Worlds Collide

Right, it's now Thursday, and I have two things to do. One makes perfect sense, and the other doesn't.

In the morning, I have to go to a specific government building, and sign a piece of paper to confirm that I still don't have a job. I also have to show a list of employers that I've applied for over the last two weeks, to prove that I'm looking for a job.

The man on the other side of the desk and I both know there are no jobs available. We also know that he and his collegues do not have time to process all their paperwork (useful and otherwise), nor do they have time to check that I have applied as I claim (this fortnight I've sent my CV to seven employers). And even if they did it would be pointless, because almost no employers keep records of who has applied to them.

Then in the afternoon, there is the funeral service. This is the front cover I threw together for the programme.

And this is the list of events, one of which is fictional:

Order of Stuff:

* Dunkan's bike heads the procession into John Pound's Church (NB: not a real church). then the coffin. Soundtrack: Anti-war noise.
* Introduction, by Chris.
* Music - "Frigging in the Rigging" by the Sex Pistols,
* Jon does the navy tradition of putting Dunkan's hat on the coffin, then speaks.
* Music - "Another Man's Cause" by The Levellers,
* John speaks, then Tim does his poem.
* Music - "Duppy Conqueror" by Bob Marley,
* Speech from Jerry of Wessex Dust Trust.
* The "sawing the coffin in halfs" magic trick.
* Final words, with Chris.
* Music - "My Way" by the Sex Pistols,
* Closedown, with anti-war noise.

I get to spend the entire service behind the coffin, operating the CD player for the music. We then go to the Function Room of a pub, watch a film of a puppet show, and eat the food each other has bought. I get to catch up with some friends I haven't seen in months.

Meanwhile the body goes off to be cremated, and the bike goes off somewhere else to be cremated. I'm not quite sure how you cremate a bike, but apparantly it's all arranged.

Now, one of these events is sensible and worthwhile, and the other is absurd and pointless.

C can't be there - he's too ill. Probably a secondary infection, and most likely just a cold. But I remember when I had gastroenteritis, other minor ailments could become unbearable. Probably a cold, but I do worry. Someone said to me recently about me and C, "You've got it bad".


  1. Hang in there man. There's really not much that can be said about funerals other than sympathis and do the best you can.

  2. I hate when I typo and can't go back and fix it. sigh

  3. I just can't stand «prophets of disgrace». There are so many around here... Words of disbelief are not to be taken seriously, I'd say...

  4. I'm not sure what a Prophet of Disgrace would be. Though The Prophets of Disgrace might be a good name for a goth band.

    As for disbelief...I have more than enough disbelief for everyone.