Let’s Have a Bloody Good Cry by Trevor Plumbly
One way ticket
As one gets older, minor things tend to slip away a bit, this of course can be useful, I can sidestep all sorts of crap by just looking confused and elderly. But some things you just can’t escape. When you get past the biblical age standard for breathing, there are constant reminders that at some point the clock ain’t going to rewind. There are those of course who believe that there’s some sort of return ticket attached to conking it, which I suppose is a comforting thought for them, but without wishing to question their religious leanings, I personally feel that they’re being a bit greedy expecting more than one innings. I wouldn’t mind making a comeback if I could dump the bad bits wherever, and sort of cherry pick the goodies to revisit. I’d like to list a few of both, but I’d prefer to entrust my remaining emotional and bodily health to divine rather than human actions.
Just remember the longer you live…
…The sooner you’re going to die. I don’t mind that theory, the actual process is inevitable, but in recent years dying, (excuse the pun), has developed an unhealthy prominence. Time was, when you croaked it, you were the major player, surrounded by dignified, sombre blokes and black clad women tissueing muffled sobs. Undertakers were Dickensian gaunt and pale to the extent of looking like their own clients. Socially they never seemed to exist, and I suppose nobody was keen to initiate contact prior to necessity. All that seems to have gone by the board. They’re out there these days, up front and nasty, funeral is now a ‘celebration.’ That’s OK with me, the mourners aren’t the one in the box, so why the hell shouldn’t they have a bit of a knees-up? My problem started when Undertakers morphed into Funeral Directors, they suddenly developed a corporate profile and worst of all started behaving more like stars than background extras.
Isn’t it grand boys…
…To be bloody well dead. It seems to have gone that way judging by the recent spate of adverts I’m viewing. Ad. one borders on the cunning, a child asks ‘what’s this Grandpa?’, the old geezer stoutly replies ‘that’s my life insurance’, fade to solemn voice track extolling the importance of giving your loved ones the ‘send off they deserve’. ‘Send off?’ for Christ’s sake! They’re just about to burn or plant some poor fish and this clown is acting like it’s a cruise ship farewell. Ad. two is mildly comic, it features some future dead people picking their funeral music, one opts for Neil Diamond, another wants the music from ‘Thunderbirds.’ If they were my sole options I’d screw the bloody lid down myself.
I’ve sort of changed my mind about my funeral, the prospect of a ‘celebrant’ spouting a few second-hand anecdotes is a bit insulting and the full holy thing is a bit hypocritical. Something short with a bit of cello music before the rest of you go to the pub will do. Time and TV ads may provoke another change, and of course I will keep you informed, in the meantime, keep the tissues handy.
The cello’s a nice touch Plum, and in the unlikely event you go first, I’ll shout the pub…
We might as well get used to it; nobody gets out alive.