WHEN I die I don't want people 'celebrating' my life with dodgy music and silly grins.
I'd prefer the odd tear or two, if that's okay.
What's to celebrate ? I'm dead ! (On the other hand, perhaps some members of the congregation might be quietly pleased.)
I was thinking about this recently when, by chance, I briefly found myself following a funeral cortege which was en route to Chilterns Crematorium near Amersham.
In my time, I've been to some terribly sad funerals, but I've also attended a few hilarious ones, sometimes accidentally so.
When I was an altar boy of about 10 or 11, I remember a trio of us being summoned to help with the funeral of an old lady.
Two of us were 'seniors' while another, slightly younger boy of about nine was still learning the ropes.
During the very solemn mass, we older boys became slightly perturbed by our younger colleague who seemed to be constantly scratching under his cassock. Did he have fleas ?
As the mass wore on, his 'scratching' became steadily worse until suddenly we - and everyone else - saw what was wrong when his posh new trousers fell around his ankles.
They had simply become undone under his cassock and he had been unable to fasten them up again.
The priest, an elderly man not given much to humour, carried on with his prayers while simultaneously glaring at the poor boy and nodding him furiously towards the nearest door.
Eventually, our struggling learner colleague took the hint and limped 'off stage' to sort himself out.
No-one laughed. The coffin was mere feet away after all.
The mass carried on and the boy returned to the altar.
Unfortunately, he soon started 'scratching' again as his trousers threatened a repeat performance and myself and the other altar boy now made the grave error of catching each other's eyes.
Oh no ! The giggles started.
Tears of silent, suppressed mirth almost blinded us as we fought to carry out the rest of our sombre duties under the gaze of the clearly livid priest.
How we got through that mass I'll never know.
But at least the trousers stayed up this time.
Death, it's no laughing matter.