On my way over the Atlantic to America the plane began to shake and dip. They call it turbulance, which is a good a term as any though I'd call it 'the terror wobbles'. This was by far the worst case of the wobs' I'd ever known. It had reached that point where the people around me weren't hiding their concern. Worse still, the pilot kept pressing the announcement button but then choose not to bother speaking. As if it could only make things worse.
It seemed like there was a 3% chance of, well, erm, 'it'. You know- the big splash. All around me people were thinking the same, I could tell.
I remembered Buddhism. People had told me a lot of good things about it. If it worked for them, why not me?
I closed my eyes, breathed deep and tried to picture nothing. Then the plane would shake and I'd think 'Eieeee!'. Gautama wouldn't be proud. But I kept trying.
And I kept failing. I was a lousy buddhist, I realised; a crappy realisation to have in your last moments, let me tell you.
So I decided to check the in flight entertainment instead. Cool; they had Curb your Enthusiasm. An episode I'd never seen. I put it on, chuckled, and forgot about the fist of fate shaking the plane about. This would be a fun-filled death.
I don't think I can offer a TV show a better endorsement.