The funeral of my friend who died of a stroke two weeks ago will be on August 15th. My pal led a chaotic life and her influence continues after her death, to the effect that nobody knows which of the Great Yarmouth area cemeteries it's at, and we've all booked rail tickets to different stations. Now a splinter group is emerging who want to boycott the service and have a wild party instead - dress in style, the way she always did, light candles, buy beautiful lilies, as elegant as the lady herself, and get rollicking drunk in the way she loved, till we all slide down the wall giggling. A better way of remembering someone and seeing them off, perhaps, than standing in a plain brick room watching a shiny coffin disappear behind a curtain to the accompaniment of a bad tape of organ music.
When I go, I want Shine on, You Crazy Diamond by Pink Floyd, followed by The Sun Has Got His Hat on as the coffin slips away and drops my mortal remains into the fires of Hell, to join my soul which will already be reposing there with the phoenixes and the dragons.
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