Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated
Grandad September 7th, 2010
I fucking hate funerals.
They are such morbid affairs.
Wakes are grand, as the whiskey and the stout flow, and the dear departed is remembered as the dear departed would probably wish to be remembered – through and alcoholic haze of pipe smoke. Funerals are different though as the service tends to over-dramatise the whole fucking business with talk of death and dust and ashes and shit like that.
I have given a little thought as to how I should like to be disposed of. Not a lot lot thought, I hasten to add, as I don’t intend to partake in that little ceremony for a while yet.
First and foremost, I don’t want some priest rattling on about what a great fella I was, when the little bollix never even met me. If there are speeches, I want people to tell it like it is. If they think I was a cunt, let them say I was a cunt and don’t wrap things up just because I’m dead. If they want to say I was a grand chap, then I’m fine with that too. After all, I’m not going to be in much of a position to comment one way or the other?
Disposal is a tricky thing. I don’t particularly like graveyards, as they tend to be somewhat depressing. I did entertain a passing thought that I should like to be cremated, preferably on a pile of old tractor tyres that have been soaked in sump oil. Call it my last little gesture to the eco-freaks. I would then have liked for my ashes to be placed in as many ashtrays as possible and left in as many pubs as possible, with strict orders that they must never be moved or cleaned out. That would cause a nice little drop of confusion?
Lately however I have been entertaining the thought of being buried on a riverbank, and a tree planted on the spot over me. I like the idea of listening to running water, and having birds singing overhead. With a bit of luck, the tree will become a place of romance, and I can watch as young couples shag each other’s brains out in the shade of my leafy tombstone.
There again, why should I worry about all this? By the time it all comes to pass, I won’t give a flying fuck.
I’ll be dead.
- Getting old , Rambles
- Comments(20)
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Would a tree by the canal do?.
Why is it acceptable to cry at a Wedding ..
But not to laugh at a Funeral ? ….
Unstranger – By the canal?? Over my dead body!!
Haddock – Is laughing not acceptable? Shit!! No wonder I got some funny looks this morning…..
Organ donor. Harvest Grandad. Leave your remains to science. HAH !!!
TT – I very much doubt anyone would be interested. I plan to wear out just about every part of me.
What you still have some miles left on your treads?
Also. Faced with getting a lung transplant and given the choice of a smoker’s lung or a non smoker’s lung. Do you think your readers who see no harm in smoking would say ” Give me either one. I don’t care.”
Long way to go yet methinks GD, but i’d ave thought going up in a puff of smoke would be quite apt!
Arn’t you going to haunt this blog anyway – deadrambles…
Dilemma when you see the ‘no smoking’ sign on the pearly gates!
I’ve always wanted to be composted. But I’m not sure that’s legal.
Burial seems like a waste of space, and I don’t see the point of cremation – you get to keep a few minerals, but is that all that people are?
Maybe I could arrange for a few millions blocks of stone to be cut and formed in to some sort of pointy triangular testament to my memory.
The hindus cremate the body in a funeral pyre of sticks and pour in lashings of ghee, a kind of buttery substance, to give the flames a good raise. I am thinking laterally now…how about sending you off in the Hindu style but with a cultural variant? Instead of ghee, not readily available in Ireland, your fans could come with bottles of VSOP five-star brandy and reverently pour the libations over the remains, then set the pyre alight. Ah lovely, they would all remember you like lighted Christmas pudding, and if done after darkness the blue flame would light up their heavy hearts. Instead of incense they could scatter generous amounts of your favourite plug tobacco on top to enhance the aroma. The less reverent mourners might take heavy swigs of the brandy before applying to the unlit pyre.
I will volunteer to come along, when your tree is fully mature, and cut it down with a chainsaw. I will then, in your memory, construct a large smoke-belching power station in its stead. In your memory
*removes cap, and stares off into the distance*
I plan to wear out just about every part of me.
Exactly.
Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body. One should rather arrive by skidding in sideways with a six-pack in one hand a pack of Marlboro in the other, ones body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming WooHoo !
After a few years of riverbank erosion, a young couple are frolicking under a tree…
“Your hand is digging into my back”
“That’s not MY hand”
TT – I don’t know if you are aware of the fact but it was revealed recently that nearly half all lungs transplanted in the UK came from smokers? Isn’t it amazing that the surgeons never noticed that the lungs were black, festering lumps of cancer? Unless of course, a smoker’s lungs look perfectly healthy? In which case the Antis are lying through their fucking teeth about blackened, tar filled lungs?
Mick – If there is a no smoking sign on the pearly gates, then I’m going to the other place. I don’t want to be surrounded by sanctimonious non smoking cunts. I like the idea of Dearambles though. I may take that suggestion up…
Kae – “you get to keep a few minerals, but is that all that people are?” Yup. What more did you think you were? I think the triangular idea has been tried before, and do you really want your remains to become a tourist attraction? Heh!
Gabby – I said before that I cannot stand brandy. Now whiskey is a diferent matter. The only problem with my friends and relations is that there would be none left for the pyre.
SAm – Make that a tobacco curing factory and it’s a deal!
Mossey – Excellent!! I really couldn’t have put it better myself.
Holemaster – It’s not her back I’d be digging into!!
I asked you a specific question. Of course you did not answer it. I mean how could you without conceding to reality? See, there’s another question.
TT – I think I did answer it. I can’t speak for my readers, but if I needed a lung transplant, I wouldn’t be particularly bothered where it came from, provided the donor didn’t want the lungs any more. What I am saying is that even surgeons can’t tell the difference, so why should I be bothered?
“Do you think your readers who see no harm in smoking would say ” Give me either one. I don’t care.” Did you bollocks answer it. The question requires only a yes or no answer.You know as well as I do that the answer to the question would always be an unequivacal ”no.” You just won’t admit it.
TT – There is no blank “yes” or “no” answer. If I am in need of a lung transplant, and a surgeon tells me that there are only two available – one from a smoker and the other from a non-smoker I am not going to specify the non-smoker. What I would specify is that the surgeon use whichever one is the best match and the best chance for survival. The origin is of little consequence to me.
All things being equal you would take the non smokers. Unless, of course you were fucking insane. So again I say unto thee- bollocks. Or in the Gaelic, bollix !
TT – All things are never the same. Just suppose both were identically suitable and both perfect blood matches, then I honestly would be glad to get either. No kidding. If a surgeon can’t tell the difference, then I don’t see a problem.
I’d go for the river bank. Old tires and sump oil just leave a black sticky mess, you included. If the relatives wanted a real funeral then I could sub for the minister easily enough. My father was a minister (Methodist–you would have liked him, ornery as hell) and I can fake it pretty well. Of course, if you insisted on being burned I’ll just bring along about 30 gallons of corn whiskey. That should toast you right up.
And if I needed a lung transplant I just tell ‘em to give them to somebody a whole lot younger than me who has their whole life ahead of them instead of some bugger like myself whose best (physical) years are long behind him.