This absence, in our current means of relating to our bodies, of space to accommodate the reality that our bodies will age and die is a heavy one. The only alternative to attaining old age is to die before we get old, and romantic as that may sound when you’re eighteen, it’s not really ideal. Of course we’d all like to imagine that we’ll end our lives like Sardinian peasants, still working every day in our gardens at the age of 105 before walking down to the local bar for a game of chequers over an espresso with grappa chaser, but the reality is that most of us will end our lives infirm either mentally or physically or both to one degree or another.

More tomorrow.