My Uncle Frank
A few years ago my dad's best mate, Frank had been kind enough to pop his clogs. As he was only 45 at the time it wasn't the best news for us to recieve as we all loved him dearly (hence the UNCLE thing, he's not a spy).

The death itself was spectacular. Out in a bar one night, enjOying a few pints, someone starts telling jokes. Well, one was so funny it killed him. The poor bugger couldn't stop laughing, and when he did....well, that was it. (NB i don't know the joke, neither me or my dad were there...probably a good thing i don't know it although i do now live in fear of hearing it when not prepared. I'm only 23 dammit.)

Anyway...back to the funeral.

Frank was a big chap. By big though, i mean BIG. Y'know, tall, well built etc. Thankfully my dad, who is equally big, was one of the pall bearers.

Now, you'd have to know both Frank and my dad to understand how he got away with this, but the important thing is that he did.

My old man hoiks the coffin up onto his shoulders with the other pall bearers in front of a sea of mourners only to find himself blurting out....with no hint of subtlety...."Jesus Frank, you fat, dead bastard."

After that there was a stunned silence. Thankfully within minutes the whole group fell about laughing. With my dad white as a sheet! With his composure restored the solemn walk into the crematoriom commenced.

Then we got Frank inside, only to go through the whole ceremony with a lithpy vicar. To this day i have no idea what that ceremony was about.
( The Pollitt chooses to listen to Enya on, Fri 12 May 2006, 14:27, Reply)