Who'd play the sound track to your life?
We'll be down in South Wales for Christmas.
We'll visit my Gran in the nursing home. It'll be the first time she's stayed there over Christmas. Previously, she's been able to come over to our Mam's for Christmas Dinner.
That's the way of it, I suppose.
The last time I visited, the news of the Royal Wedding had just been announced. Large screens broadcast the future Wales-es and their broad smiles. Old folks sat slumped in chairs, dribbling or slurping their tea or custard. Some seemed to vaguely comprehend what was happening.
The old girl who sits next to our Gran was in tuneful mood.
'You are my sunshine, my only sunshine ...'
Then a string of Sunday school hymns. 'A sunbeam, a sunbeam ...', 'What a friend we have in Jesus ...'
I wondered what the tunes would be when it's our turn?
Those of us who lived through the Punk era, what would we be singing in our dottage?
'Babylon's Burning, Babylon's Burning ...'?
Or the Sid Vicious version of My Way?
'And now, the end is near,
And so I face the final curtain - wah ha ha ha -
You ...' - already know the rest ...
My eldest has just transcribed all my old Punk and New Wave collection onto her I-Pod ... apart from the material that's still on vinyl in the attic.
So perhaps she'll recognise the songs when she visits me in a home somewhere?
The Wales's offspring may be announcing an engagement and I'll set down my bowl of apple crumble and custard to mumble through toothless gums, 'God Save The Queen ... it's a fascist regime/There is no future in England's dreaming ...'