Like A Thief In The Night
When you are in an office building at 8 am on a typical English winter morning, you generally do not expect anything dangerous to happen to you.
What you would least expect is that a helicopter hits a crane hidden by the low morning clouds not far away from you, and the inflamed debris flying around break the window, hit you, and kill you.
This appears, as I write, to have been the destiny of the poor chap who happened to be near that window in Vauxhall this morning, as the helicopter crashed. This is the most chilling detail of the story, perhaps if you exclude the fact that the helicopter crashed very near a busy train line in the middle of the rush hour.
We know that in matters like this there is no blind coincidence. We die when the moment appointed for us to die comes; unless we behave very stupidly and, say, take drugs or drive like idiots, in which case a change of plan might be triggered.
We cannot add one minute to our time, and the time meant for us can come utterly unexpectedly.
Yes, I must go to confession more often.