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Something for the weekend

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Old sage pensioners

Depictions of old age are rarely un-depressing in our late capitalist society. Once you've reached your economic menopause you pass into the hinterland of the pre-dead.

Or do you?

These guys stand that neat little theory triumphantly on its head. Here we have Fauja Singh, 98, Armuc SIngh, 79, Karnail Singh, 80 and Ajit Singh, 79, just about to compete in this year's Edinburgh marathon. Says Fajua: "Elderly people are a little like children. They like attention."

This delicious pic is from a series in the Guardian celebrating old age.

An angel whispers “Come in, mate.”

For me, the music died the day Led Zeppelin released their first album. Pop got intellectual, up itself, the mope and dope bunch sagely mulling finer points of riffs and runs. It set friends against each other. Simon bought a bass guitar, I bought a ukulele and got heavily into music hall. It was love, not protest. Humour. Pathos and wistfulness. Making the best. I love that blend.

If I were a Duchess and had a lot of money,
I'd give it to the boy that's going to marry me.
But I haven't got a penny, so we'll live on love and kisses,
And be just as happy as the birds on the tree.

The boy I love is up in the gallery,
The boy I love is looking now at me,
There he is, can't you see, waving his handkerchief
As merry as a robin that sings on a tree.

I am writing with fellow-blogger Patrick McNally especially in mind because I think he will especially enjoy the following monologue by Stanley Holloway. I’m sure you will, too. If you read Patrick's blog you will see that I mistakenly call him Tom. My embarrassment is fresh and howling somewhat. But I had this lined up for him before I put my foot in it. Life must go on.


Our Aunt Hanna's passed away,
We 'ad her funeral today,
And it was a posh affair,
Had to have two p'licemen there!

The 'earse was luv'ly, all plate glass,
And wot a corfin!... oak and brass!
We'd fah-sands weepin', flahers galore,
But Jim, our cousin... what d'yer fink 'e wore?

Why, brahn boots!
I ask yer... brahn boots!
Fancy coming to a funeral
In brahn boots!

I will admit 'e 'ad a nice black tie,
Black fingernails and a nice black eye;
But yer can't see people orf when they die,
In brahn boots!

And Aunt 'ad been so very good to 'im,
Done all that any muvver could for 'im,
And Jim, her son, to show his clars...
Rolls up to make it all a farce,

In brahn boots...
I ask yer... brahn boots!
While all the rest,
Wore decent black and mourning suits.

I'll own he didn't seem so gay,
In fact he cried most part the way,
But straight, he reg'lar spoilt our day,
Wiv 'is brahn boots.

In the graveyard we left Jim,
None of us said much to him,
Yus, we all gave 'im the bird,
Then by accident we 'eard ...

'E'd given 'is black boots to Jim Small,
A bloke wot 'ad no boots at all,
So p'raps Aunt Hanna doesn't mind,
She did like people who was good and kind.

But brahn boots!
I ask yer... brahn boots!
Fancy coming to a funeral,
In brahn boots!

And we could 'ear the neighbours all remark
"What, 'im chief mourner? Wot a blooming lark!
"Why 'e looks more like a Bookmaker's clerk...
In brahn boots!"

That's why we 'ad to be so rude to 'im,
That's why we never said "Ow do!" to 'im,
We didn't know... he didn't say,
He'd give 'is other boots away.

But brahn boots!
I ask yer... brahn boots!
While all the rest,
Wore decent black and mourning suits!

But some day up at Heavens gate,
Poor Jim, all nerves, will stand and wait,
'til an angel whispers... "Come in, Mate,
"Where's yer brahn boots?"

Laptops Direct: a statement

The Good Funeral Guide has an ethical way with would-be advertisers. They besiege our central London penthouse office suite daily, you know. No, we say, gently but menacingly, we will not take your money and promote your product. Yes, yes, we fully understand that you find it almost impossible to persuade undertakers to offer your product to clients and, when they do, they slap a gasp-inducing margin on it. But no. Sorry. No. We are an independent Guide, a consumer-focussed Guide. We must therefore stand above you, apart from you. Cease your clamour. Trouser your lucre. Begone.

We’ve been tugged by temptation, of course we have. We could by now be near neighbours of Sir Fred Goodwin, supping fine wine, breakfasting on canapés, dandling dolly birds on our knees (or whatever it is rich people do). We have been tested, and that has only reinforced our rectitude.

We do not, therefore, hold any opinion of Laptops Direct. That Laptops Direct offers products and services which, by universal acclaim, are greatly superior to those of their competitors is not a matter we are prepared to comment on. That Laptops Direct laptops reputedly exceed their technical specifications often by a factor of 600-700 per cent is not something we wish to explore publicly. When people observe that Laptops Direct customer service is unrivalled, as is their kindness to animals, we remain tight-lipped.

To the allegation that this Guide has been involved in a highly lucrative consultancy arrangement with Laptops Direct on the back of our blog post From rags to riches, we offer no comment. All we will say is that we nod our approval of the commitment of Laptops Direct to corporate social responsibility, and in particular their astonishingly generous support of indigent families with nobbut one clog between them who face the nightmare of having to arrange a funeral they can't afford.

In our customarily detached and objective way, we simply draw your attention to this. Off the record, of course. Without prejudice. On our Laptops Direct laptop. What other?

The Great Perhaps

With thanks to wonderful Postsecret.

The world of death has given birth to very few websites of any value or beauty. Most undertakers are technodunces; many do not even rise to email.

What’s more, there is very little discussion of death and dying going on in this country (the UK) just now. I have far more responses to this blog from the New World than from the Old. Wake up, Blighty! Wake up, Natural Death Centre!

If one were to award a prize to a deathly website – let’s call it the Good Funeral Guide Website of the Year Award – one would award it unhesitatingly to green fuse. Full marks for design, clarity, navigability and overall loveliness. Honourable Mentions to The Green Funeral Company and Family Tree.

The Best Read Award goes just as unhesitatingly to the Suffolk Humanists and Secularists. This is a cheat, really, because this site is not dedicated exclusively by any means to mortality. But what it says about funerals is written with such a marvellous blend of matter-of-factness and emotional good sense that you don’t stop there. The design is superb, too.

It also contains a brilliant celebratory masterstroke, a card you can (if you are godlessly inclined) download, print off and send to your atheistical friends on Darwin Day. I love it.

Go get it.

He died as a fool

One more post about how we should speak of and to our dead people.

All of us, probably, cling to the superstition that we should not speak ill of them -- not too ill, anyway (just mildly critically, perhaps). To do so could have calamitous, possibly supernatural, consequences. Hush and awe hold us in their sway.

The YouTube clip above shows someone speaking very critically about a dead person -- very critically indeed. How must his parents have felt?

I am indebted to Pam Vetter for pointing me to it. Thank you, Pam. How do you find them?!

Where beauty softens grief

I'm indebted to Pam Vetter for pointing me to an article about post-mortem cosmetic procedures. This is not a big issue in the UK as it is in the US (Pam lives in LA), but it goes on here all the same. Funeral directors earn gratitude for presenting bodies looking as if they quite like being dead; embalmers take enormous pride in their work, both cosmetic and restorative (say, for example, reconstructing someone's skull after a traffic accident).

Before I tell you where to find the article, let me exhort you to watch the video on the page showing the work of the Owens Funeral Home. It's brilliant. "I'm the guy that puts a smile on your face. Other places, you just look dead."

Have a great weekend.

Right, go for it.

Victory V

A little while ago I posted a blog about online memorial websites. I didn’t post all I wrote. I decided that the second half was grossly offensive and I deleted it.

Here’s what I wrote:


Do the online memorial sites that are up there presently give visitors enough to do? Possibly not.

So, to all entrepreneurial web developers out there looking to make a few bob out of those who sob, I offer this wheeze.

Go the whole bagel: design and create a many-acred virtual burial ground. Sell a grave to each new client. Enable them to buy a headstone and dictate an inscription. Let them buy flower urns and flowers, plants for the grave, wind chimes, teddy bears, solar-powered angels. Pocket the money. Give a token percentage to good causes.

As time goes by, flowers die, the grave becomes unkempt and the headstone gets dirty. Give clients routine chores to do when they visit.

And give them every retail opportunity to mark anniversaries.

From time to time, bad things happen. Vandals spray graffiti or leave behind the detritus of drug use. Topple-testers condemn the headstone and require it to be re-fixed. Get your client to rectify these bad things.

Keep ‘em busy!

Enable different visitors to the burial ground, if they are there at the same time, to talk to each other if they agree to; thereby you will enable the formation of mutually supportive bereavement groups.

Enough. That ought to fire your imagination. Take it from there.

Just don’t, whatever you do, even under torture, credit me with this tasteless, mawkish, vile idea. I shall go to my grave denying it.

So far as I know no one has hacked into my computer and seen this. I can therefore disclaim all responsibility for the work in progress you can see at EternalSpace.

Actually, they’ve done much, much better than me. Well, they’ve gone much further. In their virtual resting place you can choose your scenic setting. You can choose your own markers and mausoleums, growing trees, flowing fountains, fluttering butterflies, waving flags from around the world and beautifully carved religious symbols. You can send a virtual gift from a wide selection. You can do this till you die, and so then can your heirs from everlasting to everlasting. Undertakers who sell EternalSpace to their clients will get a slice of the profits.

I have a feeling that the excellent Jonathan Davies at MuchLoved will not be quaking in his boots.

Here's a qualification: I have not seen the realisation of the EternalSpace project. It may well prove me to be a grumpy old fuddy-duddy out of touch with the zeitgeist. I am prepared to eat my words.

One thing I will accord it without reservation: it is going to be much greener than any so-called green burial ground. It will never run out of space.

To prove that I am not antipathetic to v-stuff let me tell you how entranced I am by the v-funeral at the top of this piece. It was created by a Second Lifer for his real-life father, real-death photos of whom you can see in the clip.

Ghastly good taste

One mistake this blog will never make: it will never engage in debates about taste. Each to their own, I say, all the while keeping my personal views encased in concrete behind a suave and serene demeanour. “We’re one but we’re not the same”, as my good friend Bono so sagely sings. So right, Bono.

Over in India there’s a growing fad for inviting a celeb to the funeral to offer condolences to the mourners. It costs, of course, but it doesn’t half add prestige both to the event and to the dead person’s family.

Could it catch on in the UK? What do you think? If you’re going to drape the coffin in a Liverpool flag and tell everyone to dress in Liverpool shirts (or at least something red), why not pay Steven Gerrard a few bob to come along and wring a few hands?

I don’t think I’ll be looking for a themed funeral, so I won’t be looking for a themed celeb. But I’m definitely into the overall notion. And yes, now that I think of it, I want that lovely Ric Griffin from Holby at mine. His empathic presence will surely blunt death's sting. 

You?