WHO can guess what scientific or technological strides mankind will make in years to come?

I'm not bothered about smart watches, driverless cars or a bot to wipe my bot when finally I am unable - my interest lies purely in spinning out my existence way, way beyond my life expectancy.

For it transpires I will need to live to be 119 (and a half) if I am to see the next total solar eclipse on home soil, having viewed hee-haw of yesterday's partial eclipse other than on the box. And it's not that missing out vexes me to any degree; rather, on September 23, 2090, as the Moon bullies the Sun from view, I want to be in a position to tell my children's children's children's children what I was doing at 9.34am on March 20, 2015.

"Pray tell, o sage great-great grandfather who defies the laws of nature, do you remember the eclipse?" they will say.

"Sure do. I was flat on my back with my head not two feet from the cats' litter tray, wearing my socks and boxer shorts, stretching my hamstrings and counting aloud the 30 seconds of each rep in a variety of regional English accents. Same as every other day."

There will be silence as the speechless whippersnappers grapple for a meaningful response. I will save them the bother.

"It was a cloudy day in Whiteinch so there was nothing to see. And my strings needed stretched. No biggie."

"We stopped saying that 75 years ago, great-great-grandpapa. Besides, you're missing the point: why the accents?"

"Ah ... Apologies. My mind is not what it was."

I will inhale deeply and loudly, staring at the distant remains city of Glasgow, a gleaming vision of prosperity after decades under my benign, progressive stewardship.

"I had tired of counting to 30 in my head and, the better to equip myself for a career I was planning as a voiceover artist in the mould of TV comedy character Steven Toast, I pounced on the opportunity to combine physical and mental exercises which might prolong body and mind.

"I began in Newcastle - woon, tow, threeyih, fowah - then went cross-country to Cumbria - faav, seex, sehven, aight - before venturing south into the industrial heartlands. Manchester (nan, tin, livin, twelve), Liverpool (theh-teeen, foeteeen, fyfteeen, sexteeen) and Birmingham (sivintoine, aytoine, noinetoine, twehntoy)."

"Are you quite done?"

"Patience, child," I will say, taking a long, deep hit on my oxygen tank. "I chose to finish in London, the capital of what was then the United Kingdom before it literally disappeared up its own colon - twen'y wan, twen'y 'oo, twen'y free and so on, all the way up to fur'y."

"You're weird."