My fucking ripper of a funeral.

Jeff's suggested title for this blog was THIS IS NOT A DRILL. LOL @Jeff.

Just to let you know, my funeral will be very long.
So wear comfortable shoes.
Or no shoes at all, what do I care?

Don't panic, I'll not be taking up your time with religious nonsense, but with music, tea, laughs and a couple of live acts.

I have some very specific wishes, so I'd like to outline this all here and now, entrusting these plans to Clair and perhaps Yoga Boy.

Should both of them predecease me, instructions may be handed over to Taryn (who will hate them all, but carry them exactly), and maybe chkn and Monica.

I would like some Buddhist monks there to chant and do whatever it is that they do. It's not my belief as such, I just like the robes.

Because I don't actually know anyone who shares my spiritual beliefs, let alone anyone who makes a living from them, I think it's just simpler to ask people to write a few lines of what they thought of me (like a report card) and have someone read them out. That way no-one feels pressured to speak.

No priests. Don't trust 'em.
In fact, if one even happens to be walking by, I'd like the Benny Hill music to start up and everyone to pile out and chase the bastard down.
Yes. I'd like that.

No Jesus, no Christian prayers, no hymns.
At no point do I want the word amen uttered.
Should anyone feel the need to do so, they may replace it with glory glory instead.

Plainest coffin possible, red and green flower arrangement.
No carnations, babies breath or gladiolas - puke.
Souths flag on the coffin please.
No photos.

And please, no White Lady funerals. Those women look so stupid in those hats that the sound of my corpse spinning nearby may detract from the overall ambiance and tone of the proceedings. Probably not though. ;O)

You're welcome to wear black (I do so love black), but the request for people to also wear something red or green must be taken seriously. Souths jerseys considered appropriate.

Any Roosters supporters in attendance must stand together in one corner, facing the wall in a state of contrition.
They know why.

Tea and coffee is to be available all throughout the service. Good stuff too. Can you hire a couple of carts? Not Gloria Jeans, they support Hillsong.

OK, so to the entertainment... I cannot think of a time or place where you need entertaining more than at a funeral, so honestly, I don't know why it is so commonly overlooked.
Well, not on my watch.

• at the beginning - 2 bellydancers - 1 dressed in red, 1 dressed in green, but NO audience participation to be requested...it's a funeral FFS ;O). No, that just really annoys me...seriously, do your own job - I never ask people to join in while I'm doing mine.
  
• at the end - if Jo's still kicking, I'd like her to sing Glory Glory, as she has an excellent voice and no-one means it more than her. A song sheet (designed by Clair, with loads of stickers) will have been distributed so that everyone may join in. If Jo's feeling frisky, a round of "Still hate the Roosters" is definitely in order.
  
• finally, a group of bagpipes is to join in and the event is to conclude with them walking out playing Glory Glory.
• at this point, anyone with the balls to start the South Sydney chant, is be remembered in my Will (well, not really, but it sounded very Agatha Christie to say so, didn't it?)
• bonus points to anyone prepared to start the "bullshit!" chant randomly during the service. My money's on my brother-in-law, Greg, as he's successfully started it at every Souths game we've ever been to together during the last 20 years. He started it at the Cannes Film Festival too, when his Z-grade horror film was playing there, but he changed "bullshit!" to the film's title, which was, "Bloodspit!"
  

The music for the service and the wake is with Clair and Adrian, although I do need to update the listing.
Punctuate proceedings with tunes as you please.

I have yet to decide the venue for either the service or the wake, but neither will be anywhere churchy or deathy.
I'll let you know, otherwise, Clair would best decide on the service (outside is OK by me so long as the sound is good), Taryn would be the right person to decide about the wake.

Well, there you have it.
I've related most of these requests to people bit by bit over the last few years, but I thought it was best to cough it all up at once, firstly so that you can sort it out, and secondly, so that you may look forward to it. LOL

No burial. Yuk, I have no wish to be landfill.

I'd like my ashes to be, well actually, I don't really care where most of them go, but I would like some of them to be scattered around under that tree in the Domain where we sit for Opera in the Park each year. That way, I will be there nice and early for each performance and I can mind the spot. Shit, I just realised, that means I will also have to sit through Carols by Candlelight- eeewwww.

Just stuff the rest somewhere sunny.

I feel rather good now that that's sorted out.

So, my friends, when I stop seeing you tomorrow, I'll see you on the other side.


Up the Rabbitohs!

luv sim xo

PS I'm serious.

Did it. Dig it.

So, this is that cup of tea I was telling you about.

It was only 4:30pm, bitch arse cold, pitch black and a week before Christmas when we emerged from St. John's Wood station in London to cross Abbey Road in tragic tourist fashion.

Although this excursion was my idea, I admit that I still felt kinda awkward heading for our cultural mecca.
Most likely because I'm largely unfamiliar with the sensations and basic procedures associated with reverence.

We stopped in the Beatles cafe/gift shop at the station, to ask final directions and to pay ridiculous prices for Beatles merchandise as only the devout know how.

• $18 for pink Beatles shoelaces for my niece's Converse All-Stars? No worries at all.
• $15 for Yellow Submarine playing cards? Yes Sir!
• $25 for a black Abbey Road beanie? Two. Naturally.
  
• $7 for pens which either have The Beatles themselves, sliding around the crossing or a yellow submarine going by? Yup. I think I bought 3 of each. But only because I was exercising terrific self control and felt pressed for time.
  
• $7 for what looked pretty much exactly like a bucket of take away black tea, so hot and so strong that it made my heart leap for joy and would prompt this blog all these months later? Of course.
  

So, being only two blocks away, my tea was still almost full and piping hot when we arrived at the crossing.
And that's important.
It added to my over all enjoyment of this quasi religious experience, as a good drink always will.

I'm still shocked at how excited I was when we first spotted it.

I crossed, marched straight up to the 24 hour web cam and waved furiously at anyone who happened to be watching. Let's hope there weren't too many. I hope they're OK.

Walking across, perhaps it was my excellent cup of tea, perhaps it was purposefully achieving a nonsensical goal, maybe it was that little bit of creative magic that hangs in the air there, but I simply could not wipe the grin off my own face.
I don't know why I tried, but I did.
I'm like that.

Did it. Dig it.

The screen is black, but the clip is ready to go.




Oh, and in case you'd like to sing along...

DIG A PONY (THE BEATLES- LET IT BE)


I hi hi hi hi hi hi, dig a pony
Well you can celebrate anything you want
Yes, you can celebrate anything you want
Ooh

I hi hi hi hi hi hi, do a roadhog
Well you can penetrate any place you go
Yes, you can penetrate any place you go

I told you so
All I want is you
Everything has got to be
just like you want it to
Because

I hi hi hi hi hi hi, pick a moondog
Well you can radiate everything you are
Yes, you can radiate everything you are
Ooh

I hi hi hi hi hi hi, roll a stoney
Well you can imitate everyone you know
Yes, you can imitate everyone you know

I told you so
All I want is you
Everything has got to be
just like you want it to
Because

I hi hi hi hi hi hi, feel the wind blow
Well you can indicate everything you see
Yes, you can indicate everything you see
Ooh

I hi hi hi hi hi hi, cold and lonely
Well you can syndicate any boat you row
Yes, you can syndicate any boat you row

I told you so
All I want is you
Everything has got to be
just like you want it to
Because

My cup of tea.

Well, bloody death sticks and pointy chains may not be my cup of tea, but this surely was.

Damn if the Brits don't do a good job when they make you a cup of tea.

And they don't just give you half a cup either. God, that drives me crazy. I'd rather discover half the expected amount of cash in my purse than half a cup of tea in my mug.

And their cups are big. Really big!
And hot.
And they always have lemon nearby.
And when you order a black tea with your Double Bacon Deluxe meal deal instead of a coke, they think that is perfectly acceptable, if not sensible.

So, what was my favourite hot beverage?
It'd have to come down to a very close finish between Burger King, and this very cup of tea, purchased at the ornate Victoria and Albert Museum eatery, as to which impressed me most during our visit to London.

Honourable mention to that take away cup I grabbed at The Beatles Cafe which I was drinking while I crossed Abbey Road.
Dig it.

6 foot 9 inch kaa-niggit

At the Tower of London, there is a museum of nasty war stuff which upset me.
Jeff liked it though.
Looking at axes, guns, swords, spears and numerous other things whose use I simply couldn't imagine, except that they were all for killing, isn't my cup of tea. And I don't care how old they are or who they belonged to.
But you will see my cup of tea shortly, so fear not.
Our Jeffrey was particularly taken by a suit of armour from some German knight circa 1470- 1500.
Now, considering the average height back then may have been around 5 foot, I suppose that a 6' 9" knight would have probably been enough to put the fear of sauerkraut into most folk from merry old England at that time.

But then, you do have to ask yourself how the Brits came to possess it if he was so damn scary.

Perhaps he didn't know what his favourite colour was.

Mine's green.