I was reading this through last night when I had a sudden idea for a story. Suppose - just suppose - elderly ladies like me suddenly start rising from their graves. No, I don't know why either - just go with it. Not only are all their faculties miraculously restored - including some they never had in the first place - but now they are ... frisky. Undead and up for it. No more being ignored by the world. No more having tech explained to them by twelve year olds in the O2 shop. No one and nothing will be safe! Hugh Jackman has had to go into hiding! The world cowers beneath our - sorry, THEIR - sensibly shod feet. Grey Grannies rule! I feel a David Sands story coming on.
For the celts among us I must demand that we have care of you the night before the funeral. You will have the place of honour as we all gather round to tell of your greatness of spirit, your prowess in writing and your sheer animal magnetism that was as a roaring flame to the moths that are Cavil and Damon et al. We will drink the place dry in your memory, we will sing songs of great woe, we will weep till those who look upon us fear the earth will flood. But most importantly we will make damn sure you're late for your funeral......
This is an amazing funeral and I promise to be there and carry out your wishes (except the ham sandwiches - yuk). I would also like to offer my services and be a tower of support for Henry Cavill and Matt Damon in their hours of need.
I can only say what I told the medics at the Veterans Adminiistration: "just remember that if I die in my sleep in my own bed at home, I WIN!" The funeral is far less important than evading the Caring Authorities, lest one's last days become last weeks or months.
I have left with the final instructions a copy of my denomination's funeral service and selected the hymns, but I don't think my son can get a quorum for the service without strong-arming his graduate students. I've advised him to pour my ashes and my late wife's into my best combat boots and bury them whereever he pleases. And I've picked out two nice coins for each. They'll make some archeologist very happy some day.
Am furiously scribbling all this out to flagrantly steal and make a codicil to my will. Thank you. A woman after my own unbeating heart. When it comes time. Not now. Not yet.
May I remind you, you will be dead. The dead don’t eat ham sandwiches. At least I don’t think they do. And now you have revealed your fatal weakness and you are in my power Mmmmwwwwwwaaaaaaa
It's my funeral and my rules - anything sandwich or Cavill related is mine. That goes for Mr Damon as well. And Mr Jackman should he feel the urge to attend. Which I expect he will. Unable to resist - like a salmon swimming upstream ...
I love the BatOut of Hell album—we played it every time we were getting ready to go out for a wild evening of 🍷 drink and mayhem to put us in the right frame of mind.
I was reading this through last night when I had a sudden idea for a story. Suppose - just suppose - elderly ladies like me suddenly start rising from their graves. No, I don't know why either - just go with it. Not only are all their faculties miraculously restored - including some they never had in the first place - but now they are ... frisky. Undead and up for it. No more being ignored by the world. No more having tech explained to them by twelve year olds in the O2 shop. No one and nothing will be safe! Hugh Jackman has had to go into hiding! The world cowers beneath our - sorry, THEIR - sensibly shod feet. Grey Grannies rule! I feel a David Sands story coming on.
An ability the heroine gets that she did not have before -- making cheese toasties without injury?
😉
A little unkind, Joe. I can produce witnesses to say I haven't set fire to either my own feet or anyone else's for ... days.
For the celts among us I must demand that we have care of you the night before the funeral. You will have the place of honour as we all gather round to tell of your greatness of spirit, your prowess in writing and your sheer animal magnetism that was as a roaring flame to the moths that are Cavil and Damon et al. We will drink the place dry in your memory, we will sing songs of great woe, we will weep till those who look upon us fear the earth will flood. But most importantly we will make damn sure you're late for your funeral......
See you there!
All that, at the very least.
Eulogy to be read by the Hot Priest from Fleabag?
The whole of Europe, as a minimum, to stop whatever they are doing for the duration of the service, and the ISS turns off all its lights.
I will try to think of more.
Sounds perfectly reasonable to me, but could I turn up in full Victorian mourning garb???
Of course you can. Don't forget one of those heavy veils that gets sucked into your mouth every time you breathe.
Breathe! I shall be sobbing and bemoaning your loss to great literature 😉
This is an amazing funeral and I promise to be there and carry out your wishes (except the ham sandwiches - yuk). I would also like to offer my services and be a tower of support for Henry Cavill and Matt Damon in their hours of need.
You can try with Henry and Matt but I can tell you now they will be inconsolable.
I'm no quitter 🤣 I would also like to point out that I would also be unhappy at your funeral, I need you to keep writing those books I love.
Brilliant!
Brilliant!
I can only say what I told the medics at the Veterans Adminiistration: "just remember that if I die in my sleep in my own bed at home, I WIN!" The funeral is far less important than evading the Caring Authorities, lest one's last days become last weeks or months.
I have left with the final instructions a copy of my denomination's funeral service and selected the hymns, but I don't think my son can get a quorum for the service without strong-arming his graduate students. I've advised him to pour my ashes and my late wife's into my best combat boots and bury them whereever he pleases. And I've picked out two nice coins for each. They'll make some archeologist very happy some day.
And this is why we love Jodi…
Me too!
Am furiously scribbling all this out to flagrantly steal and make a codicil to my will. Thank you. A woman after my own unbeating heart. When it comes time. Not now. Not yet.
Oh, and I’m with Janet Winfield re the ham sandwiches.
Can I have yours?
May I remind you, you will be dead. The dead don’t eat ham sandwiches. At least I don’t think they do. And now you have revealed your fatal weakness and you are in my power Mmmmwwwwwwaaaaaaa
I shall make a special effort to rise from the grave specifically to eat ham sandwiches.
BTW just in case I’m wrong re the whole dead/ham sandwich thing, I’ll swap the ham sandwich for Henry Cavill.
It's my funeral and my rules - anything sandwich or Cavill related is mine. That goes for Mr Damon as well. And Mr Jackman should he feel the urge to attend. Which I expect he will. Unable to resist - like a salmon swimming upstream ...
The parts of your funeral that involve me, I'll be happy to oblige!
I love the BatOut of Hell album—we played it every time we were getting ready to go out for a wild evening of 🍷 drink and mayhem to put us in the right frame of mind.