Dead Romantic.

Friend of mine got me thinking the other day when she asked me what I’d do if the world were suddenly to be overrun by the reanimated corpses of the flesh-eating undead. Now I’m sure there are many who would simply have dismissed this question as ridiculous, however it struck me at the time that maybe ‘what to do in the event of murderous cadaver attack’ is one of those things which more people should really take the time to consider, but just would rather not. That’s understandable. It’s similar I think to sitting down to work out a fire escape route or writing your Will – even though you know it makes sense to do it, naturally you put it off. Course you do, it’s morbid, it’s depressing and in a weird way you feel like you’re almost tempting fate. Nevertheless, likewise these two examples, there are several advantages to be found in formulating a Zombie Survival Plan earlier as opposed to later. It doesn't take long for a start, an afternoon at the most, possibly less if you have good awareness of your local area; the layout, strongholds etc. Convenience, is another plus. Once it’s done, it’s done. It’s out the way. You can toss it in a drawer, forget all about it and go on enjoying your life, safe in knowledge that it’s there if and when you need it, even though you probably never will. Probably. Last but my no means least, as every good public safety information video or leaflet will have told you before: it could save your life one day. Still think it’s a nonsense, eh? Fair enough, though just remember what they always say at the end of those disaster documentaries, “ You just never think it’ll happen to you.”

So what’s my plan I hear no-one ask, how would I survive Satan’s armies on the march? Well the simple answer is I wouldn’t. Wouldn’t even try. No, no, please, I’m fine with it. You see from the little research I’ve done it would appear that in order to live through a scenario such as this, ideally you need to be the following: fast, sexy, young and a woman. The further you are from this archetypal survivor the less chance you have of being one. Swing and a miss for me on nearly all counts there I’m afraid. Technically I suppose you could possibly live if you were old, moral, world weary and a man – but if that’s the case, you’d better be prepared to nearly make it all the way through this nightmare, come agonizingly close to it’s conclusion and then have to sacrifice yourself for the fast, sexy young woman, causing a distraction so that she can make a fast, sexy getaway and live to be fast, young and sexy another day. I know, it sounds unfair but if your truly world weary you won’t mind that much. I’m doing a little better on the requirements for that one, although putting all that effort in just to fall at the last hurdle for the sake of some high speed bimbo doesn’t appeal to me at all.

That not to say I wouldn’t do anything you understand. I said I didn’t plan to survive which doesn’t mean I can’t be of some use before my demise. By the by, if you think this is the part where I say I’d grab as many guns as I could find, along with as much ammo as I could carry and hit the streets giving it my best gruff voiced action hero – If I’m going to hell, I’m takin a few of you sorry sonofabitches with me! – type act, then you can forget it. Not really my style. No, the fact of the matter is, based on the onscreen evidence I’ve seen, the human race is never more selfish than when faced with an uprising of the deceased. “Ohh, help me!” “Save me!” “Hide me!” “Please don’t kill me!” Me-me-me. What about the zombies? Some of them will have been through hell and back (literally) and might not have been out and about for years, decades maybe, centuries even. Therefore I have decided that what I would in fact do if the world were suddenly to be overrun by the reanimated corpses of the flesh-eating undead is get straight down the office of public records. Once there I will find the names of a now sadly deceased couple whose wedding anniversary falls on whatever date it is when the dead choose to rise. Having located – oh let’s call them Marjorie and…I dunno, Klaus – I’ll head to there twin burial plots (sweethearts after all) where, if they’re already up I shall personally invite them to my house, or if not, leave them a note with detailed directions.

How, you might wonder at this point, have I endured long enough to do all this if I’m so dreadfully slow, so disappointingly unsexy and so completely not a woman? Good question. I can see you’ve been paying attention so I’ll tell you. I have survived using only my wits, my natural resemblance to a zombie, and my neighbours mobility scooter. Why then, you may speculate here, do I not use these advantages at my disposal to try and successfully ride out the disaster to the end? Well...I could do I suppose but chances are mankind has just made it and no more hence there’s probably been a lot of looting, explosions and general anarchy. Think of the mess. I can’t be bothered with that, I don’t even like tidying my room let alone rebuilding civilisation. I guess it could be fun to hang around and repopulate the earth...on the other hand, take into account what we’ve all just been through, nobody’s gonna be in the mood for any of that malarkey for ages. Nah, I’ve made up my mind. Besides there’s no guarantee I’d make it, those scooters have terrible mileage.

Anyway, back at the house – Marjorie and Klaus will be a while, zombies are notoriously slow – I’ll have set the table with the good cutlery, lights down, napkins folded all fancy, couple of candles…I think you see where this is going now. What? It’s their anniversary for goodness sake. Just because it happens to fall on the same day that the gates of hell opened that doesn’t make either occasion any less special. I used to have know a guy whose birthday was Bastille Day and we always took time to celebrate both. It's not quite the same I grant you but y'know. Let’s see, what else could I do? If I’m really out to impress I might gnaw my own fingers off and leave them by a selection of dips to start. Maybe a nice Salsa or Guacamole. Finger foods if you will. Must remember to prepare and set out dips before gnawing fingers off though. Is that everything? Don’t think I need to bother with sorbets really. If I’ve got time I could always baste myself with a nice chicken stock, but after that there’s not much I can do except hop up on the table and wait. I thought I’d let them serve themselves, a buffet of sorts. Obviously, being a good host, I’ll make suggestions while I’m conscious: “Have you tried the liver?” “The knee is excellent this evening.” “Ah, an eyeball, exquisite choice!” That sort of thing. Hmm, have I forgotten anything? Oh the Barry White CD. Actually forget the CD. as they're celebrating and the dead have risen anyway, there's a chance we could talk the man himself into making a personal appearance.