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Although my attitude to impending fatherhood is (at the moment) quite cruisy, I do have the occasional vague notion that I should be further preparing myself in some kind of wishy-washy responsible adult sort of way. For example with a baby on the way, the paucity of my tie selection is surely cause for concern. I also feel that I should maybe own like more shares, or something, and fewer Star Wars Micro Machines (apart from the socio-cultural implications here, to have a child choke to death on a Jawa sandcrawler would be truly unfortunate). Perhaps I should even own some kind of portfolio. Not a house, though. Christ, who the hell can afford one of those.

But anyway, I was probably more receptive than normal the other night when my bank rang me up to try and sell me life insurance. Despite my feeble attempts to sound uninterested I surprised myself by agreeing to being rung back in two week -obviously I sounded too listen-y. Only afterwards did I remember my hatred of banks and all things bank-related, which I plan to nourish in the next week to get ready for when they ring back. I already actually have life insurance.

But the fact that I didn't say not interested straight away I suppose illustrates the whole slowly shifting priorities thing - worrying about looking after the next generation for that inevitable day when I go to light a candle some time alone at the house, slip over and impale myself fatally on Lis's cool-but-potentially-deadly bronze star candle holder, drop the still lit match from my dead hands and burn down the house - although at least in this scenario Karen won't face expensive cremation costs. I can see the funeral now:

Priest: He died as he had lived - impaled by a candle holder in a flaming house.

Karen: That is in no way accurate. Our house was hardly ever on fire, was it Shangobunni?

Shangobunni: No, Mum. (To priest) What are you doing here anyway? Dad didn't want a religious funeral.

Priest: Well to be honest, I saw you were a small boy and I followed you in.

Tim: Is there Coke at this funeral?

(Don't worry Tim, there will be.)

One things about these things when one is about to produce offspring. Well, not so much about impaling oneself on a candle holder (I can't stop looking at it now, wondering if it's about to make a move), but about ensuring that things will be "taken care of". That's in the right way of course, the responsible I smoke a pipe and sip a brandy in my drawing room as with grace and dignity I tragically slip away due to consumption "of course, you and the children will be taken care of" way, not in the bad, mistakenly walking into the wrong office one day way:

Ben: Are you the financial advisor?

Mafia Heavy: Why...yes, you could say I suppose that I have provided financial advice before, yes...if you catch my implicit meaning.

Ben (relieved): Oh good. Well listen, after I go I want my whole family taken care of.

Mafia Heavy: Let me be clear...am I to understand in no uncertain terms that you wish you have your family...taken care of?

Ben: Oh yes. I've got some money put away.

Mafia Heavy: This is good, 'cos taking care of a whole family...that don't come cheap.

Ben: Oh no, I can imagine not. So I'll give you this money then, and you take care of my family.

Mafia Heavy: I understand. After you go.

Ben: Yes, straight after that. Right, here's the money. I'll be off.

Mafia Heavy: So it is now that is to be the time of your going. Having made this arrangement with you, I shall immediately proceed with the necessary steps for the taking care of your family.

Ben: Terrific! That's a real weight off my mind, I can tell you.

Hey, it could happen. Especially in Christchurch.

Anyway having thought about this sort of thing lately (at the risk of turning this into the "Things Ben Stumbles Across on Wikipedia" blog) it was nice to stumble across something on Wikipedia today showing that (at least part of) the world has been thinking about the same thing. As usual with stumbling across things on Wikipedia, a single spark of complete randomness was all that was needed.

"Is this Iceland, Ben?" I was asked.


"Er, nope," I said, "Iceland is that one there." However, having pointed out Iceland (thanks, Risk) I then realised I didn't actually know what those islands were. An atlas plus Wikipedia to the rescue. As usual.

Why yes, it's the Svalbard archipelago, officially part of Norway and home to the northernmost town of over one thousand people in the world, Longyearbyen, on the island of Spitsbergen (ah Norwegians, your language amuses me so). "What the hell do they do up there in Longyearbyen?", you may think to yourself. I know I did. It seems that historically the main industries have been coal-mining and being destroyed by the Nazis (just jealous about their readily available supplies of whale-oil margarine, were they? Disappointingly little information available on that) but now it's all about having a university and tourism, because:

Spring is very popular since Spitsbergen is one of the few places in Norway where a snowmobile can be driven in open country without special permission.

Man, I know I for one plan all my holidays around where I can drive a snowmobile unrestricted. Ain't no-one tells me what to drive my snowmobile over. Or through. Or into.

But! Spitsbergen is much more than just an untrammelled snowmobile wonderland my friends (I for one am personally a bit gutted I didn't go to uni there...apparently rifle lessons are offered on the first day of classes so students know how to properly defend themselves from polar bears. I am not making that up). Spitsbergen is working to secure your future. For Spitsbergen contains the Doomsday Vault.


Behold its completely majestic glory. It really does look like Echo Base, or perhaps a sequel to The Thing or episode of The X-Files just waiting to happen (for the full fiction potentiality of the place effect, go look the place up on Google Earth or behold some very cool photos of the general area). I remember stumbling across a BBC item about the Svalbard Global Seed Vault, as it is more properly known (Despite the already established amusement value of Norwegian, as a name, Doomsday Vault is approximately 2600 times cooler) a while back and assuming it was somewhere in Norway proper - but no, way up there on Spitsbergen at 78 degrees North it is. And a good thing too, because:

The safe has been designed to protect (seeds) against natural and human disasters, including global warming, floods and fires, and nuclear holocaust.

Can't see anyone lobbing a nuke at Svalbard just to piss off snowmobile fans. And so the (as many as) 4.5 million seed "spare copies" are all good up there, snug in their permafrosted, underground, high-enough-to-avoid-all-possible-sea-level-rise, low-to-no-tectonic-activity facility, just waiting (there are no permanent staff in the place). Surrounded by polar bears. Excellent.

Somehow it's nice to know that when the world goes to hell, Shangobunni can head up there and "take care of" restarting civilisation. I'm not sure how he'll get there. Or how he'll get past the polar bears. But the important thing is it's there, and that's good enough for me. Perhaps I'll explain this when the life insurance lady rings back.