If you are still wondering whether you should read my latest memoir, let me help you along that decision path. Here’s an extract from the book, which will maybe give you an idea of the tone, approach and sheer unbelievability of it. Yes, someone really has had that number of brushes with Death and, yes, it was me. Enjoy a quick read of the first chapter …

An introduction
Throughout my life, someone or something has been trying to get me. Does this sound like paranoia to you? Slowly, but remorselessly on a regular basis, the events that nearly everyone else appears to sidestep have come crashing into my life, dealing destruction … but not death. Yet. I reckon that I have had at least eight and a half instances of Death’s homicidal intentions. And the problem is that as I have dodged each bullet, I have lined myself up for the next one, ensuring that one day, the Grim Reaper will have his way … because, believe me, he’s getting very, very pissed off with me now. Each time he swoops his scythe at me, I seem to suddenly bend down to tie my shoelaces, turn away because I thought I heard something, change my mind and retrace my steps or in some other mysterious and ineffable way I miss the blade … or rather the blade misses me. And so on I go with my life, airily unaware of the fact that my days are numbered, my cards are marked, my days are running out, I am on borrowed time and the sand in the hourglass is running dangerously low. Apparently. (If you need a visual representation of what I am saying here, just watch the video of Robbie Williams singing Candy.)

And of course, I am blissfully unwitting of this fact because, like most blokes, my mind is elsewhere, wandering in a field of ideas, arguments, obsessions and normal appetites. Particularly Cornish pasties, actually, since you asked. As disaster threatens or even strikes, I am not exactly prepared. Rather, I am indifferent … oh, it’s that again. Here we go … and I deal with the issue while those around me (yes, you Gabrielle) pick up the myriad pieces and try to stitch them all back together again.

My family and friends watch open-mouthed as I, like some sort of Trapeze Artist of Life, swing past the obstacles and threats and go blithely on my way – rather as if I were a character in an arcade game. If I should contract some dreadful illness, they are now resigned to the fact that I shall recover and return to normal with prodigious, almost superhuman, speed. “He’s a creaking gate, that one,” an aged aunt once remarked to my wife and, of course she agreed fulsomely. Creaking on its hinges, but it never stops swinging back and forth, annoyingly. My elder son, in some bafflement one day, said, “I’m not sure how I feel about having a father who is so closely acquainted with Death.” What could he mean, dear child?

So many people died in my early life that I came to believe that Death was just a way of life … which, I suppose it is actually, but it’s not what you expect to learn at a young age. And, if you have read my first memoir, A Glass Darkly, you’ll know that I certainly gained experience on this matter very early on.

Is someone or something out to get me? Traditionally, we think of dark-robed and faceless Death knocking on the door of his (her?) next victim. Said victim, in all the movies and cartoons I have ever seen, is usually busy doing something and so they are not at all interested in crossing the River Styx with the Dark Ferryman, Charon. Actually, they were just about to nip out to Tesco for another box of those doughnuts and a six pack of their favourite tipple. Nonetheless, Death will have his way and he leads them off to another place while their mortal remains lie on the floor, looking startled. For me though, Death is a bit like Wile E. Coyote and I am the Road Runner. With a “Beep-beep” I disappear in a cloud of dust and the Grim Reaper pursues, only to find himself bicycling frantically against gravity after he has run off a cliff.

Of course, the really dark aspect of this whole charade is that you may be reading this after the Reaper has finally managed to snare his prey and I am part of the Universal Consciousness, in Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, Limbo, Nirvana or any of the other creations that we humans have thought up to make ourselves feel comfortable with the idea of shuffling off.

And so to why this book has been written and why you might want to read it, more importantly. As is usually the case with bright ideas, my wife suggested the concept and I essentially ran with it. My suspicion is that it means she gets some peace and quiet because, when I am writing, I am not troubling her with unreasonable demands for attention. With me out of the way, scribbling furiously (actually, typing), she is free to pursue her interests which at the moment are about her garden, planning holidays, considering whom we should visit next or should come to visit us and, of course, making all the necessary arrangements. For all of this I am eternally grateful and continue to glide through life with a beatific smile (a bit like the recently elected Pope – this early chapter is being written in May 2025).

Here you are again, then, dear reader with another tome from the desk of Nicholas Evans. He’s in less sombre mood this time, despite the subject matter and that, as much as anything else, is one of the reasons that you may care to continue reading. This memoir is all about how I have cheated Death at every turn. You may be surprised or even shocked by the almost unfeasible tales that I shall weave here and yet, they are all true and verifiably so – just ask my doctor, my children, former colleagues and my wife (as well as my ex wives). They are not all going to be grim reading, even though in some cases they were very harrowing and terrifying experiences. The sunshine at the end of each episode however is the fact that I survived and literally lived to tell the tale. Writing this is rather like having your life flash before you – but slowly. The strange processes of deep memory work their wonders and each recollection can trigger associated memories that themselves lead down other rabbit holes. For this reason it’s sometimes tricky to keep a handle on where the narrative might be going.

In and amongst you’ll also hear other aspects of my life retold in the form of a career path. You’ll have noticed in my first memoir, A Glass Darkly, that I wanted to broaden the scope of the writing to include period detail about where I was and what I was doing. It can mean that a writer can’t stay on his or her subject, but it can also mean that they want their work to carry a wider appeal. Unfortunately, as we age and our memory banks get fuller with the experiences of the years, so we feel the need to expound our views on everything that occurs to us, just as it pops into our brains. There I am, happily choosing my main course from the menu at a wonderful restaurant, in the company of the most beautiful woman I have ever met when I notice that one of the choices is Crêpes Suzette and … off I go: “Did I ever tell you about the time when I was at catering college and one of the students …” “Yes you did. Several times. He put too much spirit in the measure and burnt off his eyebrows. His name was Steve. You were at College in Cardiff. The tutor in the restaurant was a dictator … etc.” My chances of making a great impression tonight have gone out of the window. So, yes, I’m going to do exactly the same with you, but I will do my utmost to ©️talk “without hesitation, repetition or deviation” on my chosen topic. If I get it wrong, I’m sure you will let me know. So, the anecdotes from my, frankly, varied life will be diversions away from the morbid topic of how many lives I have chanced to nearly lose over the past years, seasoning the mix with a bit of something different.

Discover more about The Life and Times of a Death Dodger, here. It’s available from Amazon as a paperback or as a Kindle publication.

© Nick Evans 2026