Could happen anytime. Those replaced arteries will not hold up forever. And there are all those other creepies waiting for me, from Parkinson’s to cancer of the whatever to what has this week killed Maggie Thatcher, just ten years older than I.
I myself will miss the fun of the funeral. (I mean mine, not hers – tomorrow, 17/04/13, in St Paul’s.) I won’t exactly die of regret that I will be unconscious of what’s going on. It’s just that I won’t be quite myself anymore – out of it, so to speak.
My family should feel free to choose the music, so long as it includes Don McLean’s “Vincent” with its “Starry, starry night” refrain, the other Frank’s “(I’ll Do it) My Way”, and “La ci darem la mano” (I’ll be Up There with Amadeus or Down There with the Don, thanking one or the other).
Inevitably someone will want to say a few words. S/he should play it safe. Just choose one of these Reflections (at a pinch, this one would do). No point in painting the lily, let alone gilding it, or trying to find something nice to say about a royal pain in the … neck. He’s dead and gone. Let’s get on with our own lives. We’ve got a lot of living to do. Or, as he too often repeated, let’s carpe the diem. Frank had his fun. Let’s have ours.
Just remember, mates :