Perhaps it’s getting older, that and being brought up a Catholic, but I find myself wondering more frequently what Hell’s going to be like.

I keep returning to a 1984 type of Hell where it’s personalised, where you get a Hell tailored to your own pet hates. This Idea first struck me when I was wandering around Oswaldtwistle Mills. I’d volunteered for the task of getting some sort of sheet that I was advised was only available there.

I’d made the mistake of going on a Sunday. The place was packed with people of a certain age who all looked as if they were short of ideas on where to take their mothers – it was ghastly. The sheet wasn’t available and I couldn’t see anything that I would wish to buy – ever. I started to speculate on a sort of Groundhog Day Hell in this place.

I don’t wish to denigrate the fine people of Oswaldtwistle because I’ve also been to an uber version in Kent and that was infinitely worse. For a start it was vast and on two floors. On the day I was there so was Gok Wan. People were taking their places on the balconies an hour or so in advance of his arrival but fortunately, by the time we’d had our lunch, he’d done his show and all bar the production crew had dispersed. What was common to both places was that almost everyone looked either glum of in a sort of daze – I think I alternated between the two. Imagine that for eternity. You’d be desperate for a few hot coals just to break up the monotony.

My latest personalised idea of Hell has a sort of revenge twist. Imagine a Guardian i.e. self –righteous, angel logging all the times when you were inauthentic and said, “Oo, that’s lovely,” about some awful food, a tie, a jumper, after shave or a child’s efforts on the fiddle. Then Hell would be an eternity of tough steak followed by puddings the ingredients of which you can’t quite christen, whilst serenaded by the dreadful musical efforts of a child you can’t stand, then off to bed on a futon – for ever. On reflection, I suppose you could do a sort of Hell on Earth job by being totally honest. Imagine that. There’s a character called Good News in How to be Good, by Nick Hornby who causes mayhem by encouraging folk to be honest. And there was a play on the radio recently where a chap could hear other people’s thoughts and opinions – that was awful. Then it switched and other people could hear his thoughts – that was equally awful. Maybe that’s another version of Hell reserved for those who judge others to be inauthentic – perhaps there’s a need for social oil and that’s why some older men wear dreadful jumpers.

Joke

A chap gets two ties off his wife for Christmas.

Comes down wearing the blue one on Boxing Day.

“So you didn’t like the red one then?” asks the wife.