Michael Crichton

I was really shocked today by the announcement of the death of Michael Crichton from cancer at the age of just 66. I have actually only read one book of his - Travels. The points for me were his age and that it was cancer that killed him.

Cancer has always been a big part of my life. From when my brother died from a brain tumour when I was 10, to the death of my father two years ago from bowel cancer. How much cancer is hereditary is something of a mystery to me. But it seems to me that there must be a reasonable chance that I, too, will succumb to this eventually.

But 66? I am in my mid-forties now. I would like to live to be 90, so I am exactly at a mid-point now. But what if there was just 20 years to go?

For the last day or two I have been slipping back into a bit of a depression. Every part of my life seems to have huge problems associated with it and I am feeling overwhelmed again by it all. The news today just pushes me down just a little bit more.

And Jimmy Carl Black also died a few days ago, aged 70 - which also seems young to me.