Not so long ago
I saw the latest film version of DorianGrey, about which I only remember the marvellous Victorian sets and
architecture.
The film sparked
a debate between my erstwhile partner, MCR, and me about the existence or
not of the soul. My stance was that I have no soul and do not particularly want
one. What would I do with this immortal, intangible parasite dwelling within me? Apparently it has nothing to do with my conscious self and is of no possible
use or profit. Indeed, if it exists, what do I care if it suffers in torment
after I die? It isn’t me![1]
MCR argued
that we all have souls. To settle the matter I immediately offered to sell mine to the Devil in
exchange for green traffic lights all the way home. We got them. No matter how
fast or slowly she drove, the lights always went green as we approached them.
MCR was
rather concerned at this turn of events. For my part, I was mighty annoyed. I
should have asked for the winning combination for the next big lottery
roll-over.
Still as I
didn’t sign the contract in blood, perhaps I still have a chance…
[1] I hasten to add that I am
a wonderful person: kind to animals, babies and old ladies etc. Therefore, if I
have a soul and if the soul is indeed me, with my sensations and memories, can
I please have a place in the Muslim heaven with its attendant virgins? Also, if
the person in charge could find his (obviously it’s a he!) way to providing me
with a goodly supply of Bombay Sapphire gin, Fever Tree tonic water, ice and
lemons I’m sure we could come to some arrangement. It would be rather like the Raj, I imagine.
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