Super!

It’s an odd juxtaposition: death and the superlative, SUPER. But, hey, life (and death) is about oddities. I could explain that on either side of this newly-occupied grave were the words MUM and GRAN, but that rather spoils things. I prefer to think someone thought, death… SUPER. Maybe it is.

Shock! Smoking doesn't kill!

I can imagine the scenario. Lying in her sickbed, the woman lights up her favourite brand of cigarette, a John Player Special, inhales, turns to the family and says: ‘You better put on my grave that it wasn’t smoking that killed me.’ The family take her at her word. I wish to thank her and them for giving us a laugh, albeit a rueful one. And for leaving us with a puzzle. What was it that killed her?