As a general rule, it's best, upon hearing news of an extinguished life, not to break into giggles.

The correct etiquette in polite society, it seems, is a more sombre reaction.

"He had a good innings"... "The world's a worse place without them" or "She was a shooting star" are what's expected.

Those who laugh at death, someone probably once said, will themselves one day cease to hear the joke. The bell, to paraphrase John Donne, tolls always for thee.

Me, I'm not sure I agree.

Just as there is tragedy in all good comedy, there is surely comedy in all good tragedy.

Certainly, commentators everywhere saw the funny side this week when American David Freeman passed away.

Mr Freeman was the co-author of, arguably one of the world's most famous books, 100 Things To Do Before You Die. The joke, as reporters everywhere noted with wry smiles, was he only ever did about half the things himself.

Ho and, indeed, ho.

The further irony was, while Mr Freeman walked away unscathed from running with the Pamplona bulls, survived land diving in Vanuatu and didn't even perish from boredom at the Academy Awards, he actually died after slipping and hitting his head in his own hallway.

The grim reaper clearly has a sense of humour. Either that or no appetite for adventure.

If we can learn one thing from Mr Freeman, said one writer reflecting on his untimely demise at 47, it's truly to live life like each day might be our last.

Which annoyed me, actually.

If Mr Freeman tried to teach one thing – apart from to take care in apparently innocuous rooms – it's the exact opposite: that instant gratification has to be planned. That, in fact, you should live for tomorrow.

Which also annoys me, actually.

Because the overriding message in his books, whether he meant it or not, was, essentially, life sucks but you can do some stuff to kill the boredom every now and then.

Which, in turn, is, exactly the kind of world view which inspires people to work all week in jobs they hate so they can go clubbing on Saturday night and get smashed up on Tropical Reef.

Life sucks, is the message, but you can kill the boredom one way or another – be that a night in Jumpin' Jaks or night nude surfing in Australia (one of the things Mr Freeman managed to nail before, in his own words, he "packed his bags for the very last time".)

The trick, however, is, surely not to kill the boredom but never give it birth in the first place, to not be so serious about having fun but find serious fun in everything, to enjoy the moment but plan for moments, ultimately to discover humour in everything. Even tragedy.
That's what I'm hoping to be like one day.