Monday, 26 November 2012


I often think about my funeral, I want a Gospel choir singing, six black shiny horses, a glass coffin, a hat by Phillip Treacy. There should be stylists for funerals. I want a camp old thing.
Top hats, guests crying with white handkerchiefs, professional mourners.  Violinists playing. On my tomb, a recording where you could here me speak, like they have in Los Angeles. It is not about ego. I am not more important than anybody else. I just would like my friends to celebrate my life.  I do not want a quiet affair. I shall enter a Cathedral, may be actually Bath Abbey to Queen Mary's Funeral March, by Purcell, where I used to sing as a child. I would like the music of my Grandfather's last film in Endless Night, based on Blakes poem
Every Night and every Morn
Some to misery are born
Every Morn and every Night
Some are born to sweet delight
Some are born to Endless night
written by Bernard Herrmann.
I do not care about being cremated if only I knew my bones and skin were not mingled with someone else's. I hate that idea.  So I shall go for being buried and arrange a tomb for my family. Where my bones will hopefully lie in one piece, tidily and silently. Without disturbance. 
There are tombs that have been left for sale all over the place and Elvis Presley's tomb has been up for sale at a healthy price. I still want the privacy of being with those that I truly love and so want one built especially for them.

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