As We Age Death Is Everywhere

by Neil Bamforth

What a jolly little header eh? Death is everywhere. Well? It is. Right now, from a personal perspective, people are dropping like flies.

My wife’s chum shuffled off, my good pal and neighbor buried yesterday, another couple of people I knew quite well have ceased to be. I seem to have reached the age where lots of people I know are dying.

This is slightly alarming. Not as alarming as it would be for me if I was one of them of course, but alarming all the same.

I suppose I could adopt Noel Coward’s attitude regarding people I know dying – “Personally I’m delighted if my friends survive luncheon” he once famously said.

Like most of us, I don’t tend to dwell on the prospect of my mortality too much. The only ‘Death’ I like is the one in the Terry Pratchett ‘Discworld’ novels. He seems like quite a nice chap, albeit he’s Death.

Actually, there is another ‘Death’ I want to get to know. I forget the title of the book but saw it advertised on Facebook. Apparently, in the book, someone called Dave has a ‘near death experience’ which is, understandably, quite traumatic for him. By all accounts though, Deaths ‘near Dave experience’ was just as traumatic. Sounds like my kind of read.

Anyway. I went to the Catholic church service for my neighbor. No, I had absolutely no idea what was going on. An American pal and neighbor went with me – my wife was otherwise engaged. She tried to explain what it was all about. Nope. Not a clue.

Some chap in robes waffled on. Some other chap waved a funny little ball about with smoke coming out of it. People sang hymns. Some relative mumbled something into a microphone – a bit like those DJ’s at weddings who won’t stop talking above the music but you never have a clue what they are saying.

Then my neighbor’s coffin was taken to a graveyard and buried. I didn’t go to that. I’ve got history in graveyards.

When my dad was buried my Uncle Cyril’s artificial leg fell off into the grave. As far as I know, it’s still there. The gravedigger had gone too deep. It was the first time he’d used the new mechanical digger and got carried away. We almost ran out of rope lowering my dad down. He was still swinging around at 6 feet. It was the strain of teetering on the edge of the grave that caused Cyril’s leg to come off.

No. Me and graveyards aren’t a good mix.

I’ve decided cremation is the way to go. I’ve told my wife it’s about time we made a will and, I want to make sure everything’s in place should my cunning plan for immortality fail.

My wife seems slightly worried about my musical selection for my cremation. Can’t think why. Perfect for me.

“Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” (Bryan Ferry) followed by “Get The Fire Brigade” (The Move) finishing off with Bowie and “Ashes To Ashes”.

I’m also insistent that I should ‘go’ in one of my Oldham Athletic football shirts with a bottle of vodka in my pocket – you know, just in case there isn’t a bar on the off chance there is ‘something’ after death. I wanted a packet of cigarettes too but, given smoking is banned pretty much everywhere I suppose even eternity might have banned it.

So. Every bugger seems to be dying lately. On the plus side, none of them owed me any money.

I’ll miss Grace next door. We made each other laugh every day. I thought she was going to be there forever and she thought I was nuts. Clearly, she had a better judgment of people than I did.

If anyone is likely to shuffle off soon I would appreciate it if you could, somehow, let me know. Is there a bar? Also, say ‘Hi’ to Grace for me. Miss her already but, in all honesty, I don’t want to see her again for years and years.

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