I promised to elaborate on the thought-provoking conversation I had in the pub with a colleague on Friday, and so I will.

Towards the end of our marathon sesh, talk inevitably turned to war and Karen, a wee slip of a thing, revealed she'd once been in the Territorial Army, and would die for her country if needed. I, however, said that apart from the safety of my own family, I couldn't think of a single cause I'd be willing to die for. Indeed, I can't think of a cause that would be furthered by my death. While I respect those who are willing to, and don't fear death, I believe it's negative and futile, and much more can be accomplished by staying alive.

"Ah, " said Karen, "but being a Christian I know I've got something to look forward to, it's just the beginning. But for you, being an atheist, death is the end."

And all I could think was how strange it was that a faith which stresses what a wondrous gift life is - despite the bonus round of heaven - how strange it is that people are quite so willing to give away that gift. Because despite the great foundations people have laid for such a decision I can't help but see it as bizarre, and just a little bit sad.

Anyway, here in the narrowband, confusing Mac hell that is South Wales, it's time for (irony of ironies) Christmas dinner. But that's another story.