So much can change in a hundred years.

In 2116, my youngest will be 106 (assuming he manages to move on from a diet that consists entirely of pale-coloured food: bread, pasta, chips, yoghurt and doesn’t ever pick up his mother’s fags and learns to go to sleep before midnight on occasion and stops routinely flinging himself on the floor with rage…anger is terribly ageing…)

In 2116 most rich western humans can expect to live into their 100’s. Predictions are that we’ll all have pod-thingys that’ll scan our bodies each morning and tell us (I imagine in a sort of sat-navvy voice): YOU HAVE CANCER LOOMING IN YOUR RIGHT EAR or YOUR HEART IS GETTING FURRY or YOU ARE HUNGOVER AND A TWAT.

The results of this full-body scan will then be sent directly to your doctor and your boss (no more throwing sickies to smoke fags in the bath) so that you can be immediately treated by nano-robots that will be inserted in your body to zoom around repairing cells so that you can go on existing in a world where people live in vast underground cities or even deep under the ocean where smoking will absolutely not be allowed and feeling the breeze on your face will be an annual event.

If you insist on continuing to live in a normal above-ground home, when you go on a holiday, a massive drone will arrive and simply lift up your house and carry it to Barbados for you. Cats and hamsters included.

When you feel peckish, you can just order food on your computer (which will be inserted in your eye) and print it out on your 3D printer and eat it in front of the telly (which will be inserted in the palm of your hand) after having selected which interior colour scheme you fancy in your front room that eve by a remote control which will be inserted..oh I don’t know…in your vagina?

The future seems a bit too inserty for me.

I wonder if we’ll have worked out how to stop killing each other though? I wonder if the next 100 years will bring a time when no parent has to bear the death of their child, in another country, their body blown to pieces and never recovered, their leaders sorry but grateful for their ‘service’, their future generations gathering in another hundred years to stand with bowed heads and poppies…

In 1916, life in Britain was unquestionably frightening and hard, but it was not all terrible. In Britain in 1916, you could buy little sweets infused with cocaine and morphine from THE CHEMIST.

Oh, not all progress is good…

In 2116 I will be long-dead, but my grave will be a national tourist attraction thanks to the global fame I achieved by my campaign to BRING BACK THE COKE-A-MORPHINE SWEETIES. They were brilliant for working mums. And the kiddies loved them too!


See you Monday guys…