The bloke from Hatchet Insurance Company rang and asked if I had planned
for my funeral. Now, I think that he may have just possibly caught me in a less
than pliable mood for talking about insurance to cover me for my final demise,
particularly since I was in the process of filling my face with a spectacularly
delicious evening meal and I think that I may have been a little short with the
guy.
“Oh yes!” I said, “If I have
any sort of notice that my funeral is coming, my plan is to eat plenty
of beans, as I fully intend to be as much of a nuisance as I can at the funeral
parlour, and if I could possibly manage to fart as I disappeared through the
curtains at the crematorium, it would lighten up the proceedings and might just
possibly make a few of my mourners smile, they might not mind quite as much
after all, that they were having to foot the bill to despatch my remains. And
finally, it would be nice to go with a bit of a bang!”
I thought that it was rather rude
that he hung up without uttering a single word of reply.
