Pav’s Patch; Day the music died

DON’T you think they play some odd music at funerals?

I can ask this question with some authority as the other week, while attending a send-off at Dukinfield Crem, I found myself squeezed in at the back, next to the CD player.

And before I go on, let me pass on a tip from the undertaker’s assistant. If you want to send great aunt Cynthia to meet her maker to the strains of her favourite tune, make sure you buy a good quality CD.

That way it won’t stick or jump.

Fortunately, as no one uses cassettes nowadays, they won’t make the mistake I did at the funeral of my friend’s dad.

His mam wanted “My Song” by Elton John and I just bunged it on to a tape, never thinking what else was on there.

As Elton’s tones melted away, there was a millisecond pause and then we got Syd Vicious singing “My Way”. Fortunately, friend’s mam didn’t mind in the least.

Anyway, as I waited for the vicar to get going, I took a look at the CDs in the rack and found all sorts of weird and wonderful stuff. Celine Dion — I’d rather listen to a cement mixer. Jim Reeves’s Greatest Hits — I suppose somebody might take solace from “I Love You Because”. But who on earth picks “Sailing” by Rod Stewart. Wouldn’t “Blaze Away” be more apt in a crem?

The undertaker told me that that morning, he’d been asked for “Bare Necessities” from “Jungle Book”. But I shouldn’t be surprised.

A vicar friend once told me that he had officiated at a wedding insisted on “Abide With Me” and “For Those in Peril on the Sea”.

It all set me to thinking — so much so that I’ve now left orders about what’s to happen at my funeral. After all, I was 52 at Easter, I’m getting on in years.

First, I want no music at all as I shuffle off this mortal coil. If they so much as think of opting for Robbie Williams’s dreadful “Angels”, I will come back and haunt them.

Secondly, no mawkish poems. I am not a flower in God’s garden. I would much prefer the sort of thing John Le Mesurier had, simply announcing he had conked out.

Third, no reference to me as a rough diamond, having a heart of gold or living life to the full.

Actually, I’d quite like the vicar to say what he really feels. After all, not everyone who snuffs it can be lovely, can they?