Joanna Lumley considers assisted dying if she's left in 'miserable' state
The 79-year-old star has revealed in a new interview that she would consider voluntary euthanasia if she were unable to look after herself.
'People are terribly anxious about it and think one may be coerced (into voluntary euthanasia),' she said when asked about the bill in an interview with Saga magazine.
'But I'm saying this now when nobody's coercing me, don't let me turn into somebody who doesn't recognise the people I love most, where I'm having a miserable time.
She added that she felt if she were unable to communicate or feed herself, it could be time to go.
'When I get to the stage where I can't speak and have to be fed, that won't be me any more, and that's when I wouldn't mind saying farewell.'
The Terminally Ill Adults (end of life) Bill – also known as the Assisted Dying Bill was backed by MPs in the House of Commons last month.
The bill would allow terminally ill adults with fewer than six months to live, to apply for an assisted death.
It would mean that those wishing to die with assisted dying would need to get approval from two doctors, and a panel of experts including a social worker, psychiatrist and senior legal figure.
The House of Lords is set to debate and vote on the bill in the next stage of passing it.
Dame Ester Rantzen, who has terminal cancer, has been one of the high-profile backers of the new bill and has urged members of the House of Lords not to block the legislation.
Dame Joanna has now spoken about her mortality before, saying that she doesn't want to look back and feel she's wasted her time. More Trending
'As you near the top of the hill, you suddenly think, 'Gosh, there's not all that amount of time left',' she said.
'My time must be coming quite soon, and I don't want to have wasted a minute of being on this beautiful planet.'
Speaking to My Weekly, she also urged young people to worry less, adding: 'I used to panic when I was young, but as I've got older, I've started literally to live day to day.
'With age, you work out what matters. I always knew that good stuff would come along when I was older. When I was 18, I longed to be 30. When I was 30, I longed to be 50. We mustn't be led into thinking getting old is bad. Growing old is good.'
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The Guardian
21 hours ago
- The Guardian
Elon Musk opened a diner in Hollywood. What could go wrong? I went to find out
It was just before lunchtime on its third day of operation, and the line outside Elon Musk's new Tesla Diner in Hollywood already stretched to nearly 100 people. The restaurant has been billed as a 'retro-futuristic' drive-in where you can grab a high-end burger and watch classic films on giant screens, all while charging your Tesla. After months of buildup and controversy, the diner had suddenly opened on Monday, at 4.20pm, the kind of stoner boy joke that Musk is well-known for. Hundreds of fans lined up to try burgers in Cybertruck-shaped boxes, or take photos of the Optimus robot serving popcorn on the roof deck of the gleaming circular diner. But that was for the grand opening. Less than 48 hours later, when we visited for lunch, the Tesla Diner experience was less a futuristic fantasy than a case study in how to fail with impunity. Many parts of the experience were breaking down, the food was mediocre, yet the fans were still cheerfully lining up to buy merch. The line to get into the diner on Wednesday morning was so long, an employee told us, in part because of technical problems. The app that allowed Tesla drivers to order from their cars was glitching, so the diner was 'prioritizing' Tesla owners who had to come inside to order instead. This meant that non-Tesla owners in the walk-up line might need to wait as long as two to three hours before we got our food. I expected at least a few people to leave the walk-up line immediately, but the only ones who did were two families of Tesla owners who went back to order from within their cars. Even if the app didn't work for them, they would still get their food faster. The hierarchy was clear: things were broken for everyone, but owners of Musk products had to suffer slightly less. The rest of us kept waiting in the hot sun. 'Retro-futurism', in this case, seemed to mean gorgeous, Tesla-inspired, mid-century modern architecture coupled with wait times that would shutter an ordinary McDonald's. An episode of Star Trek was playing on the giant drive-in movie screens, but the best entertainment available was watching tricked-out Cybertrucks arrive and depart. I counted at least six when I arrived, and more kept appearing: a neon orange Cybertruck with Texas plates, another floating on giant custom rims. I did not spot a single anti-Musk protester, though social media posts were advertising protests outside the diner later in the week. Musk's special projects have often unfolded with a degree of chaos. Most recently, his attempt to dismantle the large parts of the US government ended with him feuding with the president he had spent nearly $300m to elect. Serving high-end burgers to Tesla fans while they charge their electric cars should be much easier than launching space rockets, developing brain implants or running a social media platform that is not overrun with hate speech and harassment. And Musk's diner operation partners, the Los Angeles chef Eric Greenspan, who advised Mr Beast Burger, and restaurateur Bill Chait, of République and Tartine Bakery, have impressive food industry credentials. But the billionaire CEO tends to make big promises and not quite fulfill them. That appeared to be true even for a tiny burger joint. You don't have to own a Tesla to order a meal at the diner, and its appeal clearly reached far beyond Tesla drivers. There were many people in the walk-up line on Wednesday with babies and small children, some of whom were particularly excited to be visiting the Tesla Diner after seeing videos about it online. While we all waited and waited, employees in branded T-shirts brought us glasses of water and paper menus. Jake Hook, who runs a Los Angeles-focused 'Diner Theory' social media account, had described the Tesla Diner menu to me as 'all over the place', with a combination of 'very fast food shlocky' items combined with sandwiches made with 'bread from Tartine', the luxury California bakery. The diner also offers a mix of 'own the libs' and 'we are the libs' options: on the one hand, 'Epic Bacon', four strips of bacon are served with sauces as a meatfluencer alternative to french fries, and on the other, avocado toast and matcha lattes. There was a kale salad served in a cardboard Cybertruck: welcome to southern California. 'Diners are kind of a reflection of the community, and it doesn't seem to really be that,' Hook told me over the phone. 'It's like a diner-themed restaurant.' An employee gave the Wednesday walk-up line another update: they didn't have chicken, waffles or milkshakes, or any of the 'charged sodas', which came with boba and maraschino cherries and extra caffeine. 'It gets better and better,' sighed a man behind me. Josh Bates and his son Phoenix were in town for the day from Orange county, where they lived. 'We are big Musk fans,' he said. Phoenix, age 10, had been excited to visit the diner. 'I never seen Elon Musk open a restaurant, so I just wanted to come here and see how the food is,' he explained. But after waiting in line for 20 minutes and not getting much closer to ordering, Bates decided it was time to find somewhere else for lunch. 'It's the grand opening – things happen,' the father said. 'It is what it is. They're doing the best they can.' Bates wasn't the only Musk fan with this attitude. Ivan Daza, 36, who lived in Los Angeles, later told me that he had waited two hours the day before, only to be told around 6 or 7pm that the Tesla Diner's kitchen was closed. He had brought his eight-year-old daughter back the next day to try again. She had seen the Tesla Diner on YouTube and was especially excited to see the Optimus robot. But it turned out that Optimus was not in operation. Daza said he was surprised by the various problems the kitchen seemed to be having – he thought they would have a 'plan B'. But he was pleased the diner offered an 'experience'. The prices, though expensive, weren't that bad for Los Angeles. The burger was $13.50, without french fries. Later, as Daza ate the meal that had taken him two days to get, he grinned: 'Delicious.' The interior design was certainly closer to Disneyland than In-N-Out: all sleek and shining chrome, futuristic 1950s white chairs and tables, and beautifully designed lighting. The curved staircase up to the Skypad was decorated with robots in display cases on the wall. Inside a curved chrome window was what looked like a pretty ordinary, low-tech restaurant kitchen. I had waited in line for a full hour before I could place my order. When I finally got to the register, I asked an employee to remind me what on the menu was actually available. She said I needed to check the screen in front of me – they had whatever was there. It turned out, contrary to what I had been told, that I could order both chicken and waffles. After the long wait outside, my food arrived in about 10 minutes – much less than the three-hour wait I feared, but absurdly long for any fast-casual restaurant. A waffle, branded with the Tesla lightning bolt, was cold. The fried chicken had a tasty coating but was also cold. The heap of kale and tomatoes was only partially dressed with an odd dill-flavored dressing. The generic-brand cola tasted cheap and was served with a woke bamboo straw. But the food did come in elaborate Cybertruck boxes – and they were, to be honest, delightful. While locals seemed to be forgiving of the new diner's glitches, some tourists were less impressed. Rick Yin, 32, who was visiting Los Angeles from China with his mother, had stopped by the diner on their way to the airport to 'grab a quick lunch' that had turned out not to be quick at all. Yin had also been excited to see the Optimus robot in action, and had hoped the diner would be 'more hi-tech'. What he had found was 'a regular restaurant'. 'It's all right,' he said, while still waiting for his food. After eating, he said he liked the Cybertruck boxes: 'That's the only thing that's worth it.' I took my meal upstairs , to the Skypad, an open-air balcony with a view of the charging Teslas. The Twilight Zone was now playing on two giant screens. I sat down next to a steady line of people buying Tesla Diner merch: a $95 retro diner hoodie, $65 Tesla salt and pepper shakers, a $175 'levitating Cybertruck' figurine. There was a large popcorn machine in front of me, which seemed to be where Optimus had been serving snacks on opening night. Musk had been posting on X earlier in the morning that 'Optimus will bring the food to your car next year' and suggesting the robot might be dressed in a 'cute' retro outfit. In reality, Optimus was nowhere in sight. The robot was 'out today', an employee told me later, as if the pricey piece of machinery were a human celebrity with a busy schedule. 'Maybe tomorrow.' 'Is it possible to get some popcorn regardless of the robot?' a woman asked. 'It's probably old popcorn,' an employee told her regretfully. A different employee warned me that I could not walk down the same staircase I had taken up to the Skypad because it was too crowded and that 'everyone's colliding with each other and trays and milkshakes'. I would have to go down another way: a bland flight of stairs without any hi-tech decoration. During a Tesla earnings call on Wednesday, as the company disclosed declining revenue and profits, Musk highlighted his new burger palace as a success: 'Diners don't typically get headline news around Earth,' he bragged. He also called the diner 'a shiny beacon of hope in an otherwise sort-of bleak urban landscape'. (It is located on Santa Monica Boulevard, in a neighborhood full of high-end art galleries.) I'd had plenty of time in the diner line to think about 'retro-futuristic' experiences, and how good a description that was, not so much for this very ordinary diner, but for the rightwing political project that Musk had joined. We were now moving into a future that offered tank-like electric cars and on-demand drone deliveries, and also a resurgence of measles outbreaks and women dying from preventable pregnancy-related complications. But continuing to function in the United States right now requires being very good at compartmentalization. I tucked away the cardboard Cybertruck lids to show my co-workers, threw away the Tesla waffles, and went on with my day. Nothing works properly here any more, but hey, it's an experience.
Times
a day ago
- Times
Welcome to the Tesla diner. Would you like a hat with that?
Long ago in Los Angeles, the booming city was dotted with weird and wonderful buildings designed to be irresistible to hungry motorists. It was the burgeoning age of the automobile in southern California, and eclectic structures shaped like hot dogs and doughnuts used neon signs to beckon hungry drivers in for a quick meal. Now a new era of spectacular drive-in diners has arrived — or at least one of them has. Elon Musk unveiled the new Tesla Diner in Hollywood last week, promising that if the 'retro-futuristic' restaurant was successful he would establish them in cities around the world. 'An island of good food, good vibes and entertainment,' is how the world's richest man described his latest venture. The diner opened on Monday, marking Tesla's first foray into the restaurant business. • Elon Musk warns of 'rough' times for Tesla after worst quarter in a decade Customers lined up around the block on Santa Monica Boulevard to sample what the diner has to offer. The crowds were still there when I visited on Thursday afternoon, enduring an almost two-hour wait in the sun, and entertained by The Jetsons playing on a big screen. A worker said the 24-hour diner had been packed until 2am. Inside, the diner delivers on Musk's futuristic promise. A circular entrance resembles a spaceship corridor, and a sweeping counter allows diners to sit with a view of the kitchen staff busy making food. The ambient lighting has an Art Deco design. Food is ordered on touch screens and comes in mini Tesla-shaped boxes, resembling the vehicles that the company is traditionally associated with selling. A hot dog costs $13, fries $4 and a few rashers of 'epic' bacon $12. The Tesla hamburger costs $13.50. If a high-end drive-in can succeed anywhere, it is surely here. Not everyone was a fan, however. A driver speeding past repeatedly yelled, 'f*** Tesla'. The culture that produced Los Angeles drive-in diners goes back a century, according to Kim Cooper, a preservationist who runs the Esotouric tour guide company with her husband, Richard Schave. In the 1920s, the growing city was filled with empty lots. Programmatic architecture, or buildings that look like things, became popular. Business owners realised that if their restaurant was shaped like a burger or a tamale (a traditional snack popular in Mexico and Central America), it had a better chance of attracting passing trade, Cooper said. Being home to Hollywood helped. 'It came out of the motion picture industry. Studio carpenters knew how to make these wacky, prop-type buildings that would last a little while,' Cooper said. 'They weren't meant to be permanent.' By the 1940s, Los Angeles was a 24-hour city, busy building material for the war. Factory workers coming off shift at all hours needed places to go for food or to see a movie. By the time the 1960s had arrived, drive-ins were places to hang out. 'People drove from place to place to show off their cars. There was a lot of peacocking,' Cooper said, adding that the Beach Boys were born of this cruising culture. As well as the music of Brian Wilson, Los Angeles can thank Hollywood for exporting the seductive image of the diner around the world. Films including Grease and Pulp Fiction have prominently featured drive-ins and diners. Eventually, the quirky buildings thrown up by Hollywood craftsmen as a side job began to show their age. As the 1980s rolled around, they became run down and some were demolished, the land they occupied now eyed up by property developers. The drive-through replaced the drive-in because it was quicker and more convenient, both key advantages in a faster-paced world. Some treasures survive, however. Norms, a 24-hour coffee shop on La Cienega Boulevard, opened in 1957 and remains a classic example of Googie architecture — a style influenced by the atomic age: The Bob's Big Boy restaurant in Burbank, meanwhile, was built in 1949. The towering red neon sign is a local landmark: 'The ones that have survived are very precious because they are high-concept architecture,' Cooper said. 'They're really cathedrals — they're pop cathedrals.' Adam Chandler, the author of Drive-Thru Dreams: A Journey Through the Heart of America's Fast-Food Kingdom, said drive-ins were popular across the country, but especially in Los Angeles. 'They had a magic in California, in part because the weather is so conducive to drive-ins year-round,' he said. Route 66 ends in Los Angeles, Chandler notes, and California was the ultimate prize for America's sweep westwards. 'The idea of mobility is really wrapped up in this image of California,' he added. This nostalgia could mean success for Tesla's diner. 'It points to a time when things seemed a lot simpler,' Chandler said. 'You'd socialise by being out in the world, driving, it was a statement of independence. In lots of ways, people are thirsty for the analogue world where you drive out and see people and engage with people. 'It's much different now in the digital space. People connect and don't necessarily have the same kinds of relationships that they did in chance encounters when you'd go to popular spots and run into people.' That is why 'the emergence of more third places is a good thing,' Chandler said, referring to spaces that are not the home or workplace. If the Tesla Diner's early success does not lead to a fresh wave of similar restaurants, the allure of the LA drive-in will still endure, he thinks. 'You can put the top down because our weather is fantastic,' Cooper said. 'You can go from place to place at night, listen to music and yell at the car next to you and have an adventure that you can't have anywhere else. 'And you feel like an Angeleno. I think everybody wants that.'
The Guardian
a day ago
- The Guardian
Elon Musk opened a diner in Hollywood. What could go wrong? I went to find out
It was just before lunchtime on its third day of operation, and the line outside Elon Musk's new Tesla Diner in Hollywood already stretched to nearly 100 people. The restaurant has been billed as a 'retro-futuristic' drive-in where you can grab a high-end burger and watch classic films on giant screens, all while charging your Tesla. After months of buildup and controversy, the diner had suddenly opened on Monday, at 4.20pm, the kind of stoner boy joke that Musk is well-known for. Hundreds of fans lined up to try burgers in Cybertruck-shaped boxes, or take photos of the Optimus robot serving popcorn on the roof deck of the gleaming circular diner. But that was for the grand opening. Less than 48 hours later, when we visited for lunch, the Tesla Diner experience was less a futuristic fantasy than a case study in how to fail with impunity. Many parts of the experience were breaking down, the food was mediocre, yet the fans were still cheerfully lining up to buy merch. The line to get into the diner on Wednesday morning was so long, an employee told us, in part because of technical problems. The app that allowed Tesla drivers to order from their cars was glitching, so the diner was 'prioritizing' Tesla owners who had to come inside to order instead. This meant that non-Tesla owners in the walk-up line might need to wait as long as two to three hours before we got our food. I expected at least a few people to leave the walk-up line immediately, but the only ones who did were two families of Tesla owners who went back to order from within their cars. Even if the app didn't work for them, they would still get their food faster. The hierarchy was clear: things were broken for everyone, but owners of Musk products had to suffer slightly less. The rest of us kept waiting in the hot sun. 'Retro-futurism', in this case, seemed to mean gorgeous, Tesla-inspired, mid-century modern architecture coupled with wait times that would shutter an ordinary McDonald's. An episode of Star Trek was playing on the giant drive-in movie screens, but the best entertainment available was watching tricked-out Cybertrucks arrive and depart. I counted at least six when I arrived, and more kept appearing: a neon orange Cybertruck with Texas plates, another floating on giant custom rims. I did not spot a single anti-Musk protester, though social media posts were advertising protests outside the diner later in the week. Musk's special projects have often unfolded with a degree of chaos. Most recently, his attempt to dismantle the large parts of the US government ended with him feuding with the president he had spent nearly $300m to elect. Serving high-end burgers to Tesla fans while they charge their electric cars should be much easier than launching space rockets, developing brain implants or running a social media platform that is not overrun with hate speech and harassment. And Musk's diner operation partners, the Los Angeles chef Eric Greenspan, who advised Mr Beast Burger, and restaurateur Bill Chait, of République and Tartine Bakery, have impressive food industry credentials. But the billionaire CEO tends to make big promises and not quite fulfill them. That appeared to be true even for a tiny burger joint. You don't have to own a Tesla to order a meal at the diner, and its appeal clearly reached far beyond Tesla drivers. There were many people in the walk-up line on Wednesday with babies and small children, some of whom were particularly excited to be visiting the Tesla Diner after seeing videos about it online. While we all waited and waited, employees in branded T-shirts brought us glasses of water and paper menus. Jake Hook, who runs a Los Angeles-focused 'Diner Theory' social media account, had described the Tesla Diner menu to me as 'all over the place', with a combination of 'very fast food shlocky' items combined with sandwiches made with 'bread from Tartine', the luxury California bakery. The diner also offers a mix of 'own the libs' and 'we are the libs' options: on the one hand, 'Epic Bacon', four strips of bacon are served with sauces as a meatfluencer alternative to french fries, and on the other, avocado toast and matcha lattes. There was a kale salad served in a cardboard Cybertruck: welcome to southern California. 'Diners are kind of a reflection of the community, and it doesn't seem to really be that,' Hook told me over the phone. 'It's like a diner-themed restaurant.' An employee gave the Wednesday walk-up line another update: they didn't have chicken, waffles or milkshakes, or any of the 'charged sodas', which came with boba and maraschino cherries and extra caffeine. 'It gets better and better,' sighed a man behind me. Josh Bates and his son Phoenix were in town for the day from Orange county, where they lived. 'We are big Musk fans,' he said. Phoenix, age 10, had been excited to visit the diner. 'I never seen Elon Musk open a restaurant, so I just wanted to come here and see how the food is,' he explained. But after waiting in line for 20 minutes and not getting much closer to ordering, Bates decided it was time to find somewhere else for lunch. 'It's the grand opening – things happen,' the father said. 'It is what it is. They're doing the best they can.' Bates wasn't the only Musk fan with this attitude. Ivan Daza, 36, who lived in Los Angeles, later told me that he had waited two hours the day before, only to be told around 6 or 7pm that the Tesla Diner's kitchen was closed. He had brought his eight-year-old daughter back the next day to try again. She had seen the Tesla Diner on YouTube and was especially excited to see the Optimus robot. But it turned out that Optimus was not in operation. Daza said he was surprised by the various problems the kitchen seemed to be having – he thought they would have a 'plan B'. But he was pleased the diner offered an 'experience'. The prices, though expensive, weren't that bad for Los Angeles. The burger was $13.50, without french fries. Later, as Daza ate the meal that had taken him two days to get, he grinned: 'Delicious.' The interior design was certainly closer to Disneyland than In-N-Out: all sleek and shining chrome, futuristic 1950s white chairs and tables, and beautifully designed lighting. The curved staircase up to the Skypad was decorated with robots in display cases on the wall. Inside a curved chrome window was what looked like a pretty ordinary, low-tech restaurant kitchen. I had waited in line for a full hour before I could place my order. When I finally got to the register, I asked an employee to remind me what on the menu was actually available. She said I needed to check the screen in front of me – they had whatever was there. It turned out, contrary to what I had been told, that I could order both chicken and waffles. After the long wait outside, my food arrived in about 10 minutes – much less than the three-hour wait I feared, but absurdly long for any fast-casual restaurant. A waffle, branded with the Tesla lightning bolt, was cold. The fried chicken had a tasty coating but was also cold. The heap of kale and tomatoes was only partially dressed with an odd dill-flavored dressing. The generic-brand cola tasted cheap and was served with a woke bamboo straw. But the food did come in elaborate Cybertruck boxes – and they were, to be honest, delightful. While locals seemed to be forgiving of the new diner's glitches, some tourists were less impressed. Rick Yin, 32, who was visiting Los Angeles from China with his mother, had stopped by the diner on their way to the airport to 'grab a quick lunch' that had turned out not to be quick at all. Yin had also been excited to see the Optimus robot in action, and had hoped the diner would be 'more hi-tech'. What he had found was 'a regular restaurant'. 'It's all right,' he said, while still waiting for his food. After eating, he said he liked the Cybertruck boxes: 'That's the only thing that's worth it.' I took my meal upstairs , to the Skypad, an open-air balcony with a view of the charging Teslas. The Twilight Zone was now playing on two giant screens. I sat down next to a steady line of people buying Tesla Diner merch: a $95 retro diner hoodie, $65 Tesla salt and pepper shakers, a $175 'levitating Cybertruck' figurine. There was a large popcorn machine in front of me, which seemed to be where Optimus had been serving snacks on opening night. Musk had been posting on X earlier in the morning that 'Optimus will bring the food to your car next year' and suggesting the robot might be dressed in a 'cute' retro outfit. In reality, Optimus was nowhere in sight. The robot was 'out today', an employee told me later, as if the pricey piece of machinery were a human celebrity with a busy schedule. 'Maybe tomorrow.' 'Is it possible to get some popcorn regardless of the robot?' a woman asked. 'It's probably old popcorn,' an employee told her regretfully. A different employee warned me that I could not walk down the same staircase I had taken up to the Skypad because it was too crowded and that 'everyone's colliding with each other and trays and milkshakes'. I would have to go down another way: a bland flight of stairs without any hi-tech decoration. During a Tesla earnings call on Wednesday, as the company disclosed declining revenue and profits, Musk highlighted his new burger palace as a success: 'Diners don't typically get headline news around Earth,' he bragged. He also called the diner 'a shiny beacon of hope in an otherwise sort-of bleak urban landscape'. (It is located on Santa Monica Boulevard, in a neighborhood full of high-end art galleries.) I'd had plenty of time in the diner line to think about 'retro-futuristic' experiences, and how good a description that was, not so much for this very ordinary diner, but for the rightwing political project that Musk had joined. We were now moving into a future that offered tank-like electric cars and on-demand drone deliveries, and also a resurgence of measles outbreaks and women dying from preventable pregnancy-related complications. But continuing to function in the United States right now requires being very good at compartmentalization. I tucked away the cardboard Cybertruck lids to show my co-workers, threw away the Tesla waffles, and went on with my day. Nothing works properly here any more, but hey, it's an experience.
