News that the terminally-ill theatre director Peter Halasz is to stage his own funeral while still alive prompts one of those unattainable fantasies. Who'd turn up? Will they cry? Will they laugh? Will they yawn? Will they nibble dry ham sandwiches and make uncomfortable small talk, then get home in time for Countdown?
All I know is, I want Johnny Cash playing when I go. 'Ghost Riders In The Sky' as I'm consumed by the flames, and 'We'll Meet Again' as the multitudes troop out, sniffing softly, wondering who'll be in Dictionary Corner on the other side.
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