Don't You Forget About Me

Sitting at the edge of the harbour after a sensational seafood meal, sipping some more wine as we made sniggering comments about the passing parade of fashion victims, the conversation turned to funerals, and what kind we would like when we are gone.

"Who could possibly care what their funeral is going to be like?" I reasoned, not unreasonably. "I don't care what happens to me after I'm gone."

The Dreaded One was not happy about this. "What - so if I go first you're going to just put me in a box and just, like, dispose of me?"

"What difference will it make? I mean, I love you and everything, but you will have gone."

"I don't want to be put in a box and be disposed of."

"It won't matter. You won't know the difference."

"Fuck that. I'm going to find a boyfriend who is going to give me a nice funeral."

She appeared to be serious about this, and I don't know, I just think that there are better reasons for breaking up.

"Okay," I placated before it was too late. "Sorry. You're right. These things are very important. Look, we'll have the best party ever. Really big affair in the bush. Some pristine site where the wombats have never heard the twisted sounds of psytrance..."

The dreaded one was smiling now.

"... and Simon Posford will be playing, and so will I because by that time I will also be a globe trotting psytrance DJ and producer, and we'll rack up lines of your ashes and snort them and our euphoria at having bathed in the glory that is The Dreaded One will take us to new levels of such hitherto unknown levels of levelness..."

I could see that she was not happy about this. Clearly, we were having too much fun without her. She'd started off being happy, but I had to stop having quite so much fun.

"And what about mine," I said, craftily changing the course of the conversation. "What's my funeral going to be like?"

"What? You said you didn't want one. It's a cardboard box and insto-disposal for you."

"That's not fair. I'm giving you a wonderful send off, people dancing and rejoicing and no doubt there will be big blue mushrooms and fire twirlers and faeries atop giant mushrooms which have started glowing at some point in proceedings... and you're putting me in a box?"

"Well what do you want?"

"That's not fair. I did you, now you have to do me. What are you going to do for my funeral?"

"No. You design you own "funeral."" (The " done with fingers just behind the ears, though I don't really know why).

"Oh. Okay. I don't know. Um... I think I want nudity. Like, everyone has to be nude. I think that will be nice."

The Dreaded One considers this. "Okay," she says. "Everyone at your funeral will be nude."

"And on pogo sticks."

"What?"

"Nude and on pogo sticks. It's the least you could do."

So there you have it. We have planned our funerals. And here I was thinking I was disorganised.