horns of wilmington's cow

By anth

Dressed for a Funeral

Funerals always remind me to write a will. Not because I'm worried about where my meagre collection goes, but more because I don't want my funeral to be a morbid, black-tie-ridden affair.

Today was Mel's uncle Willie's funeral after he died (not unexpectedly, but still sadly) a few days before Christmas. The minister at the crematorium was a 'character', but that still failed to distract from the 'Blessed are those who mourn' nonsense; and the final words being about Jesus and how lovely a smile he had (seriously) rather than about Willie himself.

So if, as usual, I don't get round to writing a will you can take it as read (here) that I want a humanist send-off, with a bike procession to the funeral and the wake afterwards, with my mortal remains conveyed by cargobike. Black ties are not allowed, rather colour is the order of the day. And the master of ceremonies will have merely a bit part to play, with people I love (and who hopefully loved me) being the ones to stand up and speak about frankly just how great I was (rather than, as the minister pointed out today, something being said by someone who had never even met Willie/me).

And so we hit that arbitrary calendar point for new starts and soon-to-be-broken resolutions. Naturally I have also capitulated and started tidying up emails and files and polishing off a few things that I've just left trundling along. 2013 will, in all likelihood, be much like 2012, but for now the idea of it is new and fresh and exciting.

Have a good one folks - I will be doing my usual, and avoiding the crush to find a toilet or a space at the bar, and instead raising a glass of usquebaugh come the bells in the comfort of my own home. Happy New Year when it comes, and I think I'll do the family texts/calls in advance of the big moment given the usual stramash that the mobile network becomes...

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