SERVICE, PLEASE!

Still in the shitbox care home. Neither my GP or the local respiratory team would sign off on a sensible plan to move me, just in case something goes wrong on the journey. It's ridiculous bureaucracy; nobody wants to accept liability on the off chance that something goes wrong when I'm at the furthest point from a hospital, even though it's a given that staying put is not an option. I've had to sign a form saying I understand the risks of moving (though really I don't, I just know I can't stay here!) and then pass two mental capacity tests (one set of questions posed by people from either end)! With all that red tape cut I was due to move today, only someone at the receiving end caught COVID, so they can't take new admissions. I feel like Sisyphus' boulder; scheduled to reach the top of the hill aeons ago yet never quite making it.

I have figured out the perfect funeral service for when I do kick the bucket. It's weird to think of the people who know me most intimately not being there, or knowing that I'm dead. Then again, I won't be in a position to care. So I'll try and capture my vision for it here in advance.

I've only been to one funeral, and I don't remember it lasting too long, so I've narrowed it down to four songs and a joke. I think that's reasonable. It wouldn't be a religious thing, but I've included some God stuff for them that like it.

I imagine it would take place in a crematorium. I don't know who would officiate. There would be a photo of me and behind it a slideshow playing of random photos I took on holiday in Portland; the absolute happiest I've ever been. To signify the beginning of the service my favourite song plays: "Another Girl, Another Planet" by The Only Ones.

The officiant would start by apologising on my behalf for making anyone travel, and that I hoped they took it seriously when I said not to wear anything they felt uncomfortable in or to have made any crazy sacrifices to come. They would tell the following joke:

There's a farmer who attends church every Sunday in a small village, but one weekend in the Autumn he realises that the window he has to harvest his crops ready for market is closing, and he can't afford to give up his Sunday morning, so he stays at home and reaps his harvest.

That afternoon one of the parishioners comes up to him and chastises him for missing a service. The farmer replies that he decided it would be better to be out in his fields thinking about God than in the church thinking about his crops.

The officiant would then point out that I hoped nobody would feel sad or uncomfortable at my funeral, but that I would appreciate them finding some time for me in their thoughts in the following days or weeks, as well as for my surviving family.

It would then be pointed out that I wasn't a religious person and that it wouldn't make sense for this to be a particularly religious affair, but there I did request for the following song to be played, from my favourite ever album and featuring one of my favourite bands:

The officiant would then say that even though I believed in nothing it never stopped me from trying to learn more about the world and about myself, and that I asked for the following joke to be told; one of my absolute favourites. (They would tell the joke, but you can hear it here!)

 

At this point anyone who had something to say about me could do so. After they were done the officiant would summarise and mention what I consider to be my greatest achievement: when my previous place of employment burnt down I met the owners on site the morning it happened, surveyed the damage, and after waiting a beat got a laugh out of both of them by asking if they thought terrorists might have done it. I might not have come out on top in life, but being able to cheer people up in their lowest moments, that's it's own kind of magic.

My body would then be cremated whilst "Beautiful Ride" from Walk Hard plays.

The officiant then tells one final joke. Like the first one, it concerns a farmer, only this time one of the smartest woman I ever knew said I had a lot in common with the farmer when I told it to her.

There's a rambler walking through the countryside, and he stops in a field to have some lunch. As he does so a farmer comes in the field with a herd of pigs. The farmer leads them to an apple tree, then picks a pig up and holds it over his head so it can eat an apple from the branch. When the pig is done the farmer picks up a different pig and holds it up to a different apple. He does this a few different times with a few different pigs whilst the bemused rambler watches on.

Eventually the rambler finishes his lunch and heads over to the farmer. "Excuse me," he says, "but I've been watching you feed your pigs and I was wondering; wouldn't it be quicker to take that fallen branch and knock a bunch of apples down from the tree so all the pigs can eat at once?"

 The farmer mulls it over for a moment and says "Yeah, I suppose it would be, but then again, what's time to a pig?"

 The officiant would thank everyone for coming and invite them to head to wherever the wake is. Another favourite song, "Girl From Mars," would signify the end of the service.

In lieu of a program there would be a CD with the information you'd get from a program, as well as the songs featured, a written transcript of the two farmer jokes, "Float On" by Modest Mouse added between The Vandals and Dewey Cox, and after the songs Jonathan Katz telling the polar bear joke lifted from his album Caffeinated. If you put the disc in a computer you could see my favourite holiday photos as features in the slide show.

Not a bad half hour or so, right? Any tips or tricks from anyone more experienced, hit me up in the comments!

Throw your dog the invisible bone! Peace! ✌