No, I don’t want to smoke a cigar in Havana. I don’t want to go hot-air ballooning in the Serengeti, nor skydive naked from a microlight plane in Costa Rica. I don’t have a bucket list. And I wish people would stop asking me if I do.
I’m 73 and the co-founder of a social enterprise, Advantages of Age, that challenges the media narrative around ageing. Recently I appeared on a podcast to discuss it. Of course, the host asked me what is on my bucket list. I was horrified. Strangely, for once, I didn’t offer a raft of invectives: I simply said I didn’t have one. But here’s what I really think: the bucket list has blandified adventure. And that is a sin in my book.
