Sir, - I suffer from an invariably fatal, congenital, sexually transmitted disorder called life. The end-point is certain and will fall somewhere between 0 and 122 or 0 and 900 years depending on whether you use the Guinness Book of Records or the Old Testament. Yet, for several decades, insurance companies (and I do not use the term pejoratively) have been willing to gamble on when the worst day of my life might fall. They have, I feel, been paid handsomely for the risk.
However, having loaded the dice progressively against drinkers, smokers, racing drivers, wrinklies and those who do not sing from the same hymn-sheet, it seems now that they want sight of my genome. God forbid that anyone should trivialise the disaster of Huntingdon's disease, but if this policy of genetic policing by the "find the lady" group is pursued, I imagine that all the bets will be off. - Yours etc.,
Eamon Sweeney, South Hill, Dartry, Dublin 6.