The Final Countdown

Last Orders

PLEASE NOTE: This piece discusses themes of death, funerals, and grief. Even though the tone is humorous, if you are currently struggling with these topics or are sensitive to them, please proceed with caution or consider skipping this post.

I used to be one of those people who confronted the awkward realities of life head-on, forcing myself to accept the stuff we’d all much rather ignore: things like, black olives, warm toilet seats, people who clap when the plane lands, and the inevitable… death.

It’s admittedly not the cheeriest of subjects - hence the disclaimer. I have no wish to upset those who are struggling with grief, but for some time now I’ve ignored putting pen to paper, getting a funeral plan in place.

But we're among friends here on Substack, and my approach to the topic is light-hearted. So, if you're up for it, let me tell you why I grapple with this particular task.

Artist: Panckeri

Music

Growing up, the Sony Walkman was my constant companion. I listened to songs morning, noon, and night - multitasking long before second screening was a thing. And although I am now less inclined to do so because nothing is worth listening to after 1997 (DON’T FIGHT ME ON THIS) I still have very strong feelings on music - just ask the DJ at my wedding. Oh wait, you can’t. He changed his number, and I think there was something about an injunction? I forget.

Anyhoo, every Christmas, glass of snowball in hand, I turn to my husband, misty-eyed, and say, “Promise me, if my funeral falls in December, will you play Oh Holy Night as people arrive, and Fairytale of New York at the very end?”

In response, my husband adopts a solemn expression, pretends this is brand new information and usually declares, “You won’t die before me.” Like it’s some kind of morbid race to the celestial finish.

Frankly, I pity him, because I am a perfectionist who will singlehandedly prove there’s an afterlife when I return from the dead, mid-ceremony, to complain that something’s not quite right. Whether it’s the music, the readings, the eulogy, or the suspiciously glamorous neighbour at the back, smiling just a little too hard at my husband… Yeah, I see you, lady.

I’m aware that a funeral is a solemn time, and should in no way be compared to being a guest on Desert Island Discs, but for most of us, it’s impossible to narrow the list down to one final swansong. According to the internet, Frank Sinatra’s My Way and Robbie Williams’ Angels are the most requested funeral tunes, and while I get that certain songs lend themselves to the occasion, I don’t want my loved ones to suffer more than they need to…. So, no traditional tearjerkers. That doesn’t mean that I’ll have everyone doing The Conga out of the church, just that I’d prefer a song synonymous with me, one that’ll raise a smile.

Box ❎ TO BE CONFIRMED

Dress Code

I know some people request mourners wear bright colours to their funeral, and that’s fine - it’s their prerogative. But for me, it’s a hard no.

As a former goth, the thought of wearing anything but black for occasions like these makes my heart sink. Bright colours don’t flatter my complexion, and white makes me look like Typhoid Mary’s sturdier sister.¹ Yes, I know I’ll be dead by this point, but just respect my wishes: dark colours all the way. You’ll secretly thank me for it.

Box ✅

Burial or Cremation

As the daughter of Irish parents, I’m very proud of my heritage - and regular readers know that, in the past, I’ve admitted to being a bad Catholic. Burial is traditional practice amongst us lot. My mother dutifully tends to my father’s plot, and while I understand that not everyone can visit or care for a loved one’s final resting place, I can’t help but feel a deep sadness when I see neglected graves - headstones marking lives once lived. It makes me wonder if those buried there are still thought of, still missed.

I know I'm incredibly fortunate to have a loving husband and step-kids who will (hopefully) speak of me fondly when I’m gone. Although, more likely, they'll regale their children with stories about the time I made red-velvet cup-cakes and told them we were playing a game of Russian roulette, revealing that one contained a special ingredient - chilli. What can I say? I had to occasionally live up to the 'evil stepmother' tag.

London is my home, but so is Australia, therefore cremation might have to be the go, to satisfy my love of both hemispheres.

My husband had always been clear that he’d like some of his ashes scattered on his favourite mountain. I’ve asked him to reconsider this location, as I don’t want to die climbing the damn thing, and to give him is dues, he’s since chosen instead a peaceful (flatter) place with happy memories.

However I remain torn. Whereas once I declared that I wanted my ashes to be buried amongst the brickwork of one of my favourite pubs in New Cross, South-East London, I can see how messing about with the structure of a building, removing even one brick, could cause the whole pub to wobble precariously, like a Jenga tower on the brink of collapse. And I don’t want that.

So all that’s left is having to decide on a variety of places for my ashes to be scattered. In death I’ll be the Judith Chalmers² of the afterlife.

Box ✅ (Sort of)

Wake or Funeral

While a funeral is a formal ceremony, an Irish Wake traditionally precedes it, and is often held in the home of the deceased, either in the evening or several days beforehand.

The body, which has been washed and dressed, lies in the coffin, silent witness to those who converge to reminisce and trade stories of the loved one lost and times gone by. It’s still sad, obviously. The tone of the wake is always appropriate and fitting for the circumstances surrounding the death in question - but there’s something quite beautiful about the ceremony and its rituals, which play an important role in alleviating grief, loss, and isolation.

“The terrible thing about dying, is that you miss your own wake.”

Dave Allen, Irish Comedian

Nowadays, people go one step further, with living wakes allowing a person with a terminal illness the chance to be honoured by their loved ones while they are still here to enjoy the party. For those of you old enough to remember a television series called, This is Your Life, I imagine it to be a little like that.

On the show, the original host, a genial Irishman named Eamonn Andrews, would surprise the celebrity in question (who, more often than not, was rehearsing for panto). The celebrity would look suitably shocked, be whisked away to a TV studio, and seated in front of a live audience. Their other half would then emerge, remarking on how hard it had been to keep the secret. The celeb would shake their fist in mock ‘Oh, you!’ fashion, while friends and family trickled in, regaling funny and heart-warming tales about them.

Eamonn surprising footballer, George Best

I’ve always admired the intention behind a living wake - the idea of celebrating someone’s life while they’re still here to appreciate it. But for me, I think the heaviness of the atmosphere would be too much to bear. It’s hard to imagine loved ones smiling politely, knowing that every laugh or shared memory carries the weight of imminent loss. While the aim is to focus on life, I fear it might only serve as a stark reminder of how close to death that person is, making the celebration bittersweet in a way that feels almost unbearable.

Instead, I find myself wishing we were more vocal in acknowledging the positive impact certain people have on our lives, long before any of us reach the finish line.

As for Irish Wake or funeral, speaking as one who managed to string out her 50th birthday celebration over two weeks, I’d like to opt for both. Why not make an occasion of it.

Box ✅ ✅

Eulogies

Everyone’s a saint when they’re dead, aren’t they? I’m sure even mass murderer, Ivan the Terrible, had someone stand up at his funeral to say that he was always good to his mother.

I’m not perfect. I have faults. Don’t we all? I can be a frustrating TV companion, frequently testing my husband’s patience with remarks such as, “I don’t get it… What was he in before?” Or, more often than not, “She’s definitely had work done.”

Regular readers also know that I struggle with anxiety - calling me a bit of a stress-head is like saying that Gordon Ramsay swears occasionally. This manifests in overthinking and worrying incessantly about every living thing in my vicinity. In short, I can be a right royal pain in the bum.

I know public speaking isn’t everyone’s bag, but I don’t want a stranger reading lines from a script at my funeral. I’d prefer a loved one deliver the task, and I’ll even give the green light to some gentle joshing - mention my annoying habits, but overall keep to the good bits…. And most of all, make ‘em laugh.

Box ✅

Admittedly, I haven’t finished in ticking off every box. I suppose the most important thing is that it’s not about how we go, but how we live. If I’ve left a positive mark on the people I leave behind - whether it’s through a cherished memory, a smile, or even the lasting taste of chilli in their mouths - then my work here is done.

Thanks for the lovely response to (Not) One of the Girls

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1. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Mallon

2. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wish_You_Were_Here...%3F