I was in The Monocle Café getting a coffee this week when I fell into conversation with another customer about a bike ride that he’s partaking in for the owners of a brand of fold-up bicycle, the Brompton. The nice barista joined the chat and explained to this café regular that I worked at Monocle and then generously detailed what my role is. He started his introduction with the words, “You know the backside of Monocle?” before quickly adding that the customer might have spotted my name in the rear of one of Monocle’s many books. Anyway, I was beyond delighted with the description and have been owning it all week. I hope that it will, one day, be incorporated into any obituary penned about my demise. “It is with a modicum of sadness that we reveal the death of Andrew Tuck who, for many years, was the backside of Monocle, providing some plump-cheeked cushioning in times of need.”Talking of dropping dead. Someone else who we knew died recently and, in his final days, did lots of sensible things, including handing over the control of his phone and social-media accounts to his wife. It’s not something that I have ever thought about but it clearly set off a chain of thought for my other half who, this week, organised Legacy Contact Access Keys for our phones, so that, well, we can access each other’s data depending on who goes first (to be clear, I am hanging around and I hope he is too – he still hasn’t tidied his desk for starters). Though why he would ever want to sift through the 53,000 photos that I have amassed, or the 27,000 emails loitering in my inbox (sadly neither figure is made up), I don’t know. Perhaps he’ll just have fun sending some final messages as if from me from beyond the grave.