A dead cert for immortality I instantly considered choosing someone from the forthcoming collection of the greatest Telegraph obituaries, Thinker, Failure, Soldier, Jailer. It is a compendium of heroes, rakes, cult-leaders, sultry female spies, and such wonders as Bill Werbeniuk, the snooker player, who because of a medical condition "became the envy of every armchair viewer when it was explained that he could offset the cost of beer against income tax." Then it struck me that, while vastly entertaining, such a figure might not quite be what the Mexican embassy was after. I began to imagine how I might get it even more spectacularly wrong. Just think about the pitfalls. Jimmy Savile came to mind. After all, television has got universal modern appeal. A much-loved presenter, cherished for his charity work, and recently dead himself, might have been a good candidate for effective sainthood on my altar. But reputations can be reversed overnight, and the prospect of selecting a saint who turned out to be a sinner hardly bore thinking about. What other options presented themselves? I thought about choosing someone unknown to the wider world but special to me - to stand for the personal losses we all suffer. Then I thought that maybe it would be better to select someone famous, someone instantly recognisable to the crowds. The singer Amy Winehouse for instance, whose death at 27 was greeted with that special grief reserved for stars who die young. Such thoughts were overtaken by the worry that celebrity is vain, and that sombre veneration might be more appropriate to my candidate - a member of our Armed Forces, for instance, or a victim of some terrorist outrage. Then I wondered if, since the festival is supposed to be uplifting, a figure who made us smile might be best. Eric Morecambe, anyone? In the end, however, I plumped for Samuel Johnson. He is a hero of mine, not only for his literary endeavours, but also for the courage with which he faced his end. His inquiring mind left him no easy consolation when confronting his own mortality. Rather, his journals show how a great public figure addressed the private physical reality of his own imminent demise. He undoubtedly had moments of great fear. Death is a door we must all step through, yet despite the billions who have done so, we can only do so alone. Johnson chronicled his own loneliness and humility before death, and that is why I thought he best merits the calm and companionship between living and dead that the Day of the Dead represents.  Thinker, Failure, Soldier, Jailer (Arum, RRP £25) is available from Telegraph Books at £22 + £2.50 p&p. Call 0844 871 1514 or visit books.telegraph.co.uk