Death and funeral wishes were being talked about on TV this morning. To contemplate one's own death is not a very welcome experience unless in great pain, I should think. For me, having had a fair crack at life is the main thing rather than regretting stuff I have not done. Probably just as well, since it has been a great effort for such a lazy woman just to actually exist for so long. I did once harbour a secret ambition however, for doing the Cresta run - probably a little unrealistic now.
Thinking about funerals, feasts etc., apart from a passing fancy for a horse-drawn funeral, reconsidered because it seems rather too pompous and retro, even for me, and a New Orleans jazz band at the funeral, which I am less against, because the music is quite jolly, I will not be in a position to care much about the final event.
To be cremated, and a modest party afterwards, that's it. My ashes could be scattered anywhere my heirs wished, though I believe ashes are good for roses. I was trying to think about music, but so far, am rather uninspired. New Orleans jazz, as before? Worker's Playtime? Perhaps it is part of the Alzheimer's but the Teddy Bears Picnic keeps springing to mind. I am always rather inclined to the unsuitable. Urban spaceman?
Having said this, and imagining crowds of people sadly sobbing into their handkerchiefs at my untimely demise , I then realise that I am of the age and disposition to expect around two attendees, if that, so perhaps I shan't worry unduly. Just hope there's enough dosh for them to fall into the nearest hostelry afterwards and get happily pissed, sighing with relief that the old bat has finally croaked.
Oh, and by the way, if my heirs are at a loss for words at the funeral, they can always read this, hopefully not over-edited.
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