clear. Her senses started to go at forty, an age no-one thought she would make: balance was first, then taste, sight, hearing, continence and short term memory. The little muscle tissue and bone density left was quickly snapped up before she turned ravenously onto her own kidneys, intestines, spleen, lungs, liver and heart. Having consumed herself to the pip her rapacious fury turned to Uncle Simon, their bungalow and nice car, the trimmed lawn and the garage with the gym equipment. The dinner set didn’t stand a chance. As my relatives visited they too were caught up in the infinite famishment; my grandmother was chewed up wondering what could have caused such a slow deathly life, my aunts and uncles chopped into pieces squabbling over where the blame lay and my mother consumed with pity holding the coats. I myself was swallowed up late last year at the funeral when the cavernous graveside munched through the congregation in four minutes flat. A minute for every decade it had waited.