Crisp, my aged companion, had been quite pensive of late.
She said, “I’d like lots of colour at my funeral. I want to be remembered for the character I am. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”
We agreed her funeral notice would request bright and colourful attire.
The conversation for the next hour was about the funeral. It was all a bit depressing, and I hadn’t been prepared for it. Crisp had a list of songs, most from our teenage years though her suggestion of Jim Reeves, ‘He’ll Have To Go’ reworded to ‘I’ll Have To Go’ might have taken some organising.
The one thing we agreed on was flowers. Lots of them, bright as could be, spread all around the funeral chapel.
“You’re not planning of going just yet, I hope?
“No,” she said, “far too much fun still to be had.”