Do any of us, however ill, have the right to die? In general, we don't want nature to take its course, do we? Battalions of crack medical troops are arrayed against Mother Nature and her arbitrary cruelties. Doctors joke among themselves that death is no longer considered an acceptable outcome. It costs several hundred pounds a day to keep a very premature baby alive in an incubator, with no guarantee of a healthy future. It's the same, if not more, to maintain a 70-year-old in cardiac intensive care. Yet, as a society, we consider both to be worthwhile because life is precious and sacred in a way we can't quite articulate. I was talking to a cancer consultant the other day who had just lied to get a drug that costs thousands of pounds to win a stay of execution for a 19-year-old boy who was days away from the grave. It worked, at least for now. Do you think that boy's parents will complain about the poor quality of life their son has left - do they wish nature had been allowed to take its course or that a lethal injection was available to put him out of his misery? We expect doctors to keep us alive and, when being saved hasn't worked out as planned, we declare the poor sods must kill us. I asked the cancer consultant if he wanted to be given the right to use the common-law defence of necessity (and not face prosecution) so he could kill a patient who demanded the right to die. He was visibly angry. He said that to terminate deliberately the life of a conscious person would be to forever alter and coarsen the relationship between doctor and patient. It would be like a death penalty with doctors as willing executioners. None of us would want to be shut up in the prison of ourselves with only a blinking eyelid to communicate with the world. Even so, I'm afraid I think that Tony Nicklinson's desire to change the law of the land so he can be killed in the comfort of his home is wrong. Others suffer as he does - Professor Stephen Hawking comes to mind - but they make the best of the dreadful hand that fate has dealt them. Tony Nicklinson could refuse food, but his wife objects that starvation is a horrible way to die. Yet isn't Tony Nicklinson's argument that his life is too horrible to live? Legally, he already has the right to refuse medical intervention. He can sign a binding "advance decision" setting out the treatments he won't consent to. I certainly plan to have one of those handy when I'm old and at the mercy of our marvellous "care" system. If Mr Nicklinson gets a serious infection, highly likely for someone in his condition, then, without antibiotics, he will soon get the merciful release he seeks. But that isn't enough. He wants a landmark case. I'm not vulnerable. I don't need help or protection from death or from those who would help me," says Tony Nicklinson. This summer, at a five-day hearing, he will argue for a drastic change in the law on murder, for death on demand. If he wins, any doctor who kills a profoundly disabled person can say: "But he wanted me to end his life, your Honour." Does that sound like a good defence to you? It's literally so not cool to misuse words, yeah In the unlikely event that any dads have forgotten, it's Mother's Day on Sunday. All floral tributes, jewellery, foot massages gratefully received. What I would really like for Mother's Day is for my children to stop talking like the evil spawn of the Disney Channel. It's basically like, yeah, he's like literally a legend, Mum. So cool! This week, I was reassured to hear that I am not alone. A leading author claimed that inappropriate use of "literally" is so widespread it's like literally an epidemic, yeah? Basically, it's like your kids, yeah, they use the same four words in every sentence, which is so amazingly cool, like they are LITERALLY driving me mad, yeah? After years of repeating "Tom and I," quite literally like a demented parrot at the dinner table, I have had to concede that "Tom and me" will, henceforth, be the excruciating, ungrammatical way in which the Daughter refers to her brother. But I am not ready to give up on literally. Nor will I submit to "cool," "awesome" or "legend" to describe individuals who are anything but. Or else, I will self-combust and my mortal fragments will be scattered throughout the galaxy. Literally. Prince Harry, your princess awaits . . . Harry, 27, seeks serious relationship. Friendly, ginger, ace marksman, misses his mum. You must be level-headed, kind, discreet, good in crowds. GSOH essential to deal with possible in-laws. Some foreign travel. No previous history. In an interview, Prince Harry has spoken of the difficulty of finding the right girl to marry. "I'm not so much searching for someone to fulfil the role," he says, "but finding someone who would be willing to take it on." Nowadays, no young woman who could be a royal princess would want to be a royal princess. If you are smart and ambitious, why would you want to spend the next 50 years smiling nicely and holding your tongue? The Queen has done it to perfection, but she hails from a generation born to self-effacement. Whoever gets Harry will also have to get used to pulling open little curtains to reveal little plaques, which inform posterity that a princess once dropped in to tug the tassel. It's not that much of a draw, is it? There will be girls who really, really want to be princesses, and will stop at nothing less; faced with them, however, Harry should repeat his Usain Bolt stunt and sprint in the opposite direction. Poor lovable Harry. Let's find the guy a bride. Who could be a possible contender? a) Rebecca Adlington. Heading for multiple Olympic glory. Fit, funny, and at least half fish. Likely to give birth to the first ever royal baby with gills. b) Dr Helen Czerski. Oceanographer and presenter of Orbit: Earth's Extraordinary Journey. Face by Botticelli, brain by Churchill College, Cambridge. Would breed much-needed scientific nous into the Windsor line. World expert on bubbles, so they can bond over Harry's special interest in champagne. c) Miss Bahamas. Anastagia Pierre, 23, met Harry on his recent Caribbean tour and pronounced him "hot," noting that "he maintains eye contact at all times." Translation: he couldn't look away. Displays grit and admirable commitment to the challenge ahead. "I came here to fall in love with Prince Harry," said Anastagia. What a match it would be, too - a definitive and dignified end to the imperialist tone of British sovereignty, and the overdue death-knell of lingering racism, not just in the upper classes. Every little ting's gonna be aright! d) Pippa Middleton. Still the bookies" favourite, and why not? Her poor father might heave a deep sigh as he dusts off the morning dress for one more outing, but duty calls. Think of the cosy Christmases! Bin the Ninja look, Samantha, and dress to thrill the US One of the problems mere mortals like myself have with fashionistas is that they swoon over clothes which, to the untrained eye, don't look very nice. Whenever an actress is said to be wearing something "fashion-forward," you can bet she will be modelling something a Prussian cavalry officer would have rejected as uncomfortable. Uncomfortable is exactly how Samantha Cameron looked on the White House lawn yesterday in a peculiar dress by Roksanda Ilinic. Wearing turquoise elbow-length sleeves set into an ill-fitting cream bodice, lovely SamCam appeared girlish and oddly informal. The Americans, who still dress very formally and think "edgy" equals grungy, will not be impressed. The day before, the fashion-forward Mrs Cameron got off the plane looking like a civilian. Clad head to toe in black, she was described by bemused commentators as "Ninja" or "Chairman Mao." If the Prime Minister's wife wants to fly the flag for British fashion, I suggest she bins any outfit that prompts the response, "What the hell is she wearing?" A beautifully cut Amanda Wakeley dress for day with a pair of Rupert Sanderson heels is matchlessly elegant. And for evening, England boasts the most romantic gowns by the great Jenny Packham. Come on Sam, forget fashion and go for gorgeous. At this rate, we'll be nostalgic for Cherie and her white pixie boots.