Yesteday's funeral was a robust mixture of DIY and tradition. The car that carried the coffin was a silver 4X4 with a cow catcher on the front and a sticker reading "Another fucking cyclist". The undertaker wore shabby clothes, a back to front cap and had a blue-tooth in his ear. The ceremony took this shape: an hour for the women to gather round the coffin and keen- and then a quarter of an hour for the men to recite the traditional prayers (which are largely silent). There was no bloody clergyman and no bloody homily.
Death happens. You deal with it and and then move on as quickly as you can. Life is an illusion- which means you shouldn't take death too seriously- and too important to waste - which means you shouldn't spend more time on death than is strictly necessary. The dead are in the hands of God. Trust him to know what he's doing.
