Not so much a funeral as the interment
...and I could start in about locks on coffins (you know, boom boom, do they expect the deceased to climb out, har dee har har).

Weeellll, as a matter of fact - as we'd thrown our rose petals on to the coffin and it was solemnly lowered into the ground I watched from my priveleged vantage point of right beside the grave as one of the funeral directors bite her lip and say one very well chosen word ("sh(ip) it") as she stared down into the dearly departed's excavation in the ground.

As the coffin had hit the dirt, the lid had flown off almost completely, despite the triple locks along one side. Oops. Hoping no-one would notice (and since the rose-petal-throwing things were done), we were all shooed away as soon as was seemly (there must be an etiquette book on it somewhere). As my then boyfriend and I left the gravesite, I turned to look back to see the stereotypical wizened, bent over, old gravedigger attempting to thump the coffin lid back into place with a very long stick. Swearing all the while. ("Get back in place", gritted teeath and everything. It was pretty cool.

For the record, Mum was attempting to leap out to grab her sister - they hadn't spoken for decades and the mingy old boot only turned up for the funeral, probably to make sure she was really gone.
(lateonenite, Thu 11 May 2006, 12:08, Reply)