At 3am, the world can seem like a bleak place. Staring at the bedroom ceiling unable to sleep, I find myself wrestling with a familiar stampede of anxieties. All the usual suspects are present and correct: the financial headaches, the career regrets, the mounting horror that my “double crown” is, in fact, a nascent bald spot. It seems as good a time as any to properly confront my mortality by agreeing to review the Tikker “death watch”. Because while these moments of nocturnal angst have a tendency to flare up from time to time, tthey’ve become way more frequent of late. The second round of lockdown in Victoria – where we are back in Stage 3 and largely housebound for another six weeks – has proved a vicious kick in the metaphysical knackers. COVID’s capacity for screwing up everything that I’d looked forward to this year has plunged me deep into the doldrums. Increasingly, I catch myself feeling disappointed about the past and pessimistic about what the future holds. The chance to review the Tikker death watch did not exactly present as a very cheery pick-me-up. Essentially, the watch provides an hourly countdown to when you’re going to die. It…
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