How to fill your time during lockdown

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This lockdown is nothing like the last one.

Then we found ourselves basking in the spring sunshine and embracing our civic duty. Those of us lucky enough to have gardens weeded and pruned and mowed and painted our fences and sheds. We cleaned, cleansed and reorganised our lives and our cutlery drawers. We enthusiastically threw ourselves at home schooling and the Joe Wickes workout. On Thursdays we took to the streets, clapping for the keyworkers who bravely provided us with healthcare, food and hygiene solutions.

Now, nearly a year on, we are bored, tired and overwhelmed. Instead of embracing our isolation we just sigh or argue and post cynical memes and comments on social media. It doesn’t have to be that way though.

There is a simple, effective, therapeutic and enjoyable thing we could all do to while away this time we are spending in suspended animation.

Memories are made of this

We could write our memoires.

Bear with me. It might sound a bit extreme. We may think we don’t have much to write. Perhaps we feel that our life has been uneventful or even just plain dull. But we all have memories that we have made and that are surprisingly unique to us. And now would be a perfect time to capture them.

Writing your own memoires doesn’t have to start at birth and painfully and chronologically make its way through your life to date. It can take many shapes and forms and as it’s unique to you there can be no right or wrong way to do it.

Just use bullet points

Perhaps you hated creative writing at school and lived-in dread of being given an essay to write? It doesn’t matter. Nobody is going to judge your grammar or sentence structure. It’s just a case of putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboard and bashing out things that have happened to you. Your version of events.

You don’t even need to write in complete sentences. You could use a series of bullet points to note things down.

Homes, decades, jobs

Maybe you are somebody who has lived in lots of different places or has moved home a lot? Why not start with one of your addresses and jot down everything you remember about living in that house or place? What was the décor like? How did your bedroom feel? Did you have neighbours? What were their names and what did they do?

Or try a different tack and start with different decades of your life. What do you remember about being ten? What about when you were 20? I have dozens of short paragraphs that I once wrote for this exercise at a creative writing class I attended in London. It was surprising just how much I could remember from each decade. Especially bearing in mind that some were such a long time ago!

As you can imagine, the possibilities are endless. Your memories from different jobs; your ten best meals (where did you eat them/who cooked them/who else was there?); if you’re a sports fan then what about matches or events you have attended? Or the best games you’ve seen on television? Try to dredge deep into your mind to remember everything you can about them and don’t neglect how you felt – that’s probably the most important thing as it’s totally unique to you.

Desert Island Discs

Holidays are another rich vein of memories but there probably isn’t much to rival music for emotive recollections. Pretend you’re a celebrity who has been invited onto Desert Island Discs and pick the ten pieces of music you would take with you. What would they be – and why? What feelings do they evoke? Music can often transport you straight back to the time and the place where you first listened to them so put on your playlist and write as you listen.

This is all a bit of harmless and time-filling fun but it also has a serious side. However insignificant you feel, you are part of social history and your memories are important.

Housewife, 49

In 1937 the Mass-Observation Project was set up to record the voice of ordinary people. Volunteer observers were asked to report to them and to send in accounts of their lives. The diary of one of the contributors was eventually made into a TV drama starring Victoria Wood. It details the seemingly ordinary life of Nella Last, a wife and mother living in the northern town of Barrow-in-Furness. Even the title of the drama, Housewife 49, screams ordinary. And yet it was a riveting social commentary on the life and times of Nella as she struggled with her emotions and her buttoned up husband during the Second World War.

Imagine how interested future generations of your family would be to find out what was important to you and to discover how you lived or what you were like as a child or a young person? Especially as our environment is likely to change beyond all recognition because of our current predicament.

What’s your auntie called?

I consider myself to be lucky in that my own parents often spoke about their childhoods and readily shared their memories. We once even visited the woman who became my mum’s temporary guardian when she was evacuated during the War. I always felt this was normal but now I visit bereaved families and realise that adult children have no idea what music their parents might have liked, let alone where they went to school. Some barely even know the names of their parents’ siblings.

That’s not the only beneficial reason to start writing and remembering though. Recalling your accomplishments or happy times you have experienced has a positive effect on your mental health

So if you find yourself with some time on your hands, why not have a try at recalling some of your precious memories and recording them for posterity?

Engage with a ghostwriter

And if you do have a story that you would like to tell, then check out my website and writing services as I would love to help you ghost write your memoires.

Naming your baby

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Seeing as Boris Johnson is about to contest the Conservative Leadership, perhaps it’s only fitting that his name  means “to fight”. He will definitely have a fight on his hands to even win the party leadership but that will pale into insignificance if he becomes Prime Minister and has to attempt to unite both the country and his party as well as negotiating a decent exit from the EU.

I have no idea whether Mr and Mrs Johnson even knew what Boris meant when they named their baby but would it have been important to them if they had? Does it even matter what we are called as long as we’re not called late for dinner?

Genuine, bold and brave?

When Megan and Harry settled on Archie for their baby son, there was a mixed reaction. Even on Facebook I noticed some people protesting that, although it was a decent enough name for a “normal” child, it just wouldn’t do for a member of Royalty.  As it happens Archie means genuine, bold or brave so it would be fitting if the new addition to the Mountbatten-Windsor household could live up to that billing.  It would be even better if Boris could!

Without stating the obvious, our names are vitally important to us. It is one of the few constants that we have throughout our lives. We answer to that name, we live up to that name. Our name is our brand and our identity and it’s important to us that people remember it and use it properly.

Why did Richard become Dick?

One common annoyance is people assuming that others are happy to have their name shortened or lengthened. When you think about it, it’s the height of rudeness and arrogance to assume that an Alison wants to be called Ally or a Benjamin is happy to be reduced to Ben. Those two short forms might be fairly obvious but have you ever wondered why Richard became Dick or Williams were known as Bill?

It’s a simple case of the age old habit of choosing rhyming words. Richard was short for Rick which rhymed with Dick. William was Will or Willy which became Bill or Billy.  I suppose Billy was preferable to Willy but I’m not so sure whether Rick was happy to become Dick.

Equally frustrating is the habit some people have of lengthening your name or deciding to call you by, what they consider, your proper moniker before promptly choosing the wrong option. For the record, I’m a Joanne and not Joanna or Josephine but actually Jo suits me just fine thank you very much.

Don’t call me Fiona

I have a friend who has recently chosen to change her name. She was a Theresa and known by all and sundry (whoever sundry are) as Tess. However, she’s recently converted herself to Claire as she feels that it fits her better. I might have done the same had my mum got her own way and managed to christen me Fiona. I don’t look at all like a Fiona and, even though I didn’t know it at the time, had great cause to be grateful for my dad’s intervention.

The only reason I know what Fionas look like is because of the blonde, petit and feminine Fiona I knew at school. On reflection, I’ve known plenty of fuller figured, frumpy, pinafore-dress wearing  Fionas but to me the name will always be synonymous with the first Fiona I ever knew. And that’s where your name becomes your brand. We associate particular names with certain people and then almost judge them accordingly.

Welcome to the House of God

Traditionally the naming of a child was a community led affair where the whole village or tribe turned out to welcome the new addition to their clan. With Christianity came the ritual of christening a child, or welcoming him or her into the house of God.

I can still remember feeling very overwhelmed when some good friends asked me to be a Godmother to their little boy. However, I soon felt rather underwhelmed when what should have been a precious and personal service instead became nothing more than over a dozen babies and thirty or forty associated Godparents being rounded up for a mass christening. I recall a similar situation when my nephew was christened although in his case all six babies baptized that day during the normal Sunday service were called Matthew!

Baby naming ceremonies

In recent years Baby Naming or Welcoming services have gained some popularity for those who are not church goers or who would like a more bespoke service. These services can take place in the venue of your choice and even in your own garden should you have the space and feel confident enough about the weather.

As a qualified civil celebrant, I am able to conduct a totally personal service for you and your child or children. You can choose God Parents or Supporting Adults who might make a pledge or say a few words about their responsibilities. The celebrant would create a script which will reflect your views on parenthood and culminate in the naming of the baby.

A day to treasure

While the traditional definition of a nuclear family still exists there are so many more alternatives these days, but one thing remains constant. The birth of a new child or the arrival of an adopted child into a family, is something to be celebrated and treasured. Why not choose to do this by gathering together those closest to you and honouring their birth and their name with a service that reflects just how important they are?

For more information on Baby Naming and Welcoming Ceremonies please see my website at www.silverfernceremonies.co.uk

 

 

 

Renewing your wedding vows

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The good news is that it will now be much easier to get a divorce.

No longer will couples have to compile an itinerary of each other’s faults in order to persuade a Court that they can part.

It’s not really surprising to find that the current system, which leads couples to apportion blame, has been found to increase animosity and makes it harder for ex-partners to maintain civil relationships – let alone co-parent their children.

In proposals announced yesterday the ability to contest a divorce will disappear; couples will have the option of creating a joint application for divorce and there will be no requirement to provide evidence of unreasonable behaviour.

Ham or Corned Beef?

This can only be good news for people like my friend (who shall remain nameless for obvious reasons). Her husband left her, without warning, on the eve of his sixtieth birthday. When she asked why, he cited the lack of cold meat options for his Saturday lunchtime sandwich.

In his eyes this constituted unreasonable behaviour. On saying that, I’m sure there would have been a crusty old Judge somewhere who would have sympathised with him and decreed that his wife’s indecision in the deli department gave him more than enough grounds to grant a divorce.

Critics of the proposals complain that getting out of a marriage is now easier than getting out of a mobile phone contract. I can’t agree. Even if you are not married and living together, splitting up is still a painful and long-winded procedure that can take years to recover from. I can’t believe that anybody decides to break up without a huge amount of soul searching.

Harder to stay together

Besides, although parting might be hard, staying together can be even harder.

When we meet the person of our dreams we are convinced that we will live happily ever after but life isn’t a fairy tale. During the years we spend together there are so many times that we reach a roadblock. So many things that can tear couples apart. Children, or lack of them, bereavements, job pressures, money – or lack of it. Dependent parents, illness. The list is as endless as the argument about how to load the dishwasher or who takes the bins out. So, when two people do decide that they love each other enough to stay together through fat and thin, isn’t that something worth celebrating?

Many couples will mark their tenth wedding anniversary, throw a party for their Silver wedding anniversary or invite family and friends for a gala dinner for their Golden but isn’t such a momentous occasion worth celebrating  in an even more special way?

A blessing in disguise?

A vow renewal service is not a legal or religious ceremony. It can take place anywhere from your own back garden to the poshest hotel. It could happen at a favourite spot that you’ve both loved over the years or in a village hall. It can be as formal or as relaxed as you like and can reflect all that’s happened to you since that day you first fell in love.

My mum and dad dithered over the possibility of renewing their vows or having a blessing of some sort for their Golden wedding anniversary. They threw a huge party, invited everybody they knew and provided enough food and drink for an entire village but they often regretted not giving the occasion the focal point it deserved. They talked about making it fun, having a vote about who most deserved the medal for putting up with the other one, and having a timeline about their lives together but they didn’t.

A family affair

I went to a silver wedding anniversary party recently where the wife stood up and made one of the bravest speeches I’ve heard. She told the assembled friends, family and neighbours that she had been newly married when she first met her current husband but knew immediately she had made a mistake. There followed a painful and illicit affair, a huge fall out and an acrimonious divorce but she remarried and now the couple have three strong and independent children as well as a relationship which was now entering another phase.

It was obvious that she felt the need to share her story with people who may not even have needed to know but I sense that she found it cathartic. That she was somehow ridding herself of the guilt she had at the time and may still feel over her original failed marriage and the people she had hurt. It felt as though she was holding her relationship up to the light and saying to the world, look, we did the right thing. We are still together after 25 years and have brought up a wonderful family.

Not all love affairs are as guilt ridden or dramatic as hers but each one comes with a back story that deserves to be celebrated. Staying together through better or worse is no mean feat so surely you owe it to your relationship to celebrate those milestones by reminding each other just why you fell in love and confirming what you’re going to do in the years that follow.

Because you’re worth it

I will happily conduct a vow renewal ceremony for you in the location of your choice. I will help you, if necessary, to write your vows and tell your love story. The downs as well as the ups. The twists and the turns. As much or as little as you like. It can read like a sitcom or a beautiful love story. A family celebration or something special between the two of you because, as the advert says, you’re worth it.

 

 

Your Life Story

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At least Theresa May knows how people feel about her.

“The Usain Bolt of failure”

Granted, she might prefer not to know. Being told you are the Usain Bolt of failure isn’t something many of us would aspire to. Nor is being told that you have no natural empathy or any of the basic human attributes necessary for leadership. Whatever. As I said, at least she knows.

Most of us, particularly if we’re not politicians or in the public eye, go through life barely aware of what other people think or feel about us. We have no idea whether we’re regarded as brave, patient, idealistic or comical by those that we know or love. And, the harsh reality is, that by the time a group of our family and friends get together and start waxing lyrical about us, we are probably no longer around to bask in the glory of our goodness.

Special birthday present

So, I have a radical plan. Think how special and wonderful it would be for your nearest and dearest to hear how much they were treasured while they were still alive to not only feel the glow of being loved but to realise how their qualities were appreciated and admired?

When my grandmother died she was in her mid eighties and my very large and noisy family assembled, as people do, for the funeral. There were the usual drinks and sausage rolls afterwards, lots of story telling and many memories shared. Then somebody pointed out the inevitable. “Wouldn’t mum/nan have loved to have been here today?”

Of course the irony of that comment is that if she had been there then we wouldn’t have been at her wake. But, just a few years earlier, some family members had contemplated holding an eightieth birthday party for her. The plan was deemed too much trouble. “Mum wouldn’t have enjoyed it”. People might not have come. And yet, all the cousins, brothers, nephews, nieces and surviving children and in-laws pitched up from miles afar for the funeral. How much nicer it would have been had we all got together when she was still there to have enjoyed it – and to have heard all the treasured memories and stories that we were sharing about her?

It’s too late when we die

As Mike and the Mechanics pointed out – it’s too late when we die which leads me nicely back on to my plan. The next special birthday your husband, wife, mother, father or associated family member has, why not throw a party or a special meal? Yes I know you normally do that but what if you also did something a little bit different. Why not get hold of a friendly celebrant (I’m not sure what date you’re intending but I think I might be free) and tell the story of their life and what you value about them?

The beauty of doing this for the living is that it doesn’t have to be sombre and full of tears. It can truly be a celebration of life. An affirmation of all that is good about them. And it can be comical if you’d like it to be. A real focal point to the party.

Celebrate uniqueness

Most of us think we live ordinary lives and have no extraordinary traits. But in essence we do. We all do. So, why not celebrate the uniqueness of your loved one on their special day?

If public displays of affection aren’t quite your thing then I can produce a celebration booklet which can be presented in private!

Writing a Eulogy

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How well do you know those that you love?

I’m sure you talk to them every day. You’ve probably had endless and numerous conversations over bowls of paella, plates of lasagne and mounds of moussaka whilst fighting off mosquitos and scratching your sunburn on holiday. But, other than that, what do you remember about them? What did you talk about?

You may know that they are irritated by self-service check-outs in Tescos, that they are miserably inept at loading the dishwasher and are hopeless at D-I-Y but what about His Story? Or Her Story? What do you know about that?

What was his name again?

Do you know where they went to school? Or, even before we get to that, do you know the names of their parents? Where they were born and how many brothers and sisters they had? Of course, when we’re in our first few decades things that like are fairly obvious but once people get older even those straightforward facts can be lost to the annuls of time.

Even more important than names and numbers though is what they were like as children. Did they have a quiet, studious family life or was it robust and loud? What did their mum and dad do for a living? Were there any events in their childhood that shaped the adult they was to become?

In my role as a civil celebrant I am continually fascinated by the back stories people have.

The German pilot ruined their coats

The elderly man whose father lost a leg in the War and whose mother had to apply for special permission to work and keep the family. Back in those days, the Government had decreed that married women weren’t allowed to hold down a job as employment was scarce and had to be reserved for the returning soldiers.

Then there was the eighty-odd year old lady who nearly never made it past her sixth birthday. It was 1942 and, terrifyingly, a German fighter plane emptied it’s bullets over her family as they walked back home from a day out in Norwich. Mum pushed the children into a ditch and saved their lives although, apparently, she was far more worried about them damaging the new coats she had recently made them!

We are nowadays privy to an unlimited supply of information about the past. We can look up historical facts and data on our phones and tablets but they are just outlines. It is stories like those that really conjure up pictures and put colour and flesh on the bones of the portraits of the past. And when those stories belong to our loved ones then they become even more real.

How did we live with Brexit?

The point is that we are all living in the past. Some day, in the distant or not-too-distant future, we will have been deemed to have lived “in the olden days”. Future generations will view our lives through the telescope of time and wonder aloud at how we lived with the uncertainty of Brexit; why we allowed people to perish in poverty and what on earth was a landline?

Who do you think you are?

The reason that Who Do You Think You Are is so popular isn’t because anybody thinks that a celebrity sitting in a library with a book is particularly interesting. However, people are fascinated by the stories that their ancestry throws up. Of course, we can’t all be related to royalty like Danny Dyer but that doesn’t matter. There are stories in every family and each individual has their own piece of the past.

Apparently watching the first series of the BBC programme caused 7% of people to start researching their ancestry. You don’t have to develop an obsession with genealogy to keep those stories alive though. All you need to do is talk to each other. Your partner, your parents and grandparents, your aunties and uncles. The stories you uncover might not be ground breaking but they will provide fascinating little insights into the people that surround you.

What’s wrong with Dave Allen?

Sometimes it’s what somebody doesn’t like that it equally fascinating. A family I recently spoke to revealed that their mild mannered mother always hated Dave Allen. Why? What was wrong with Dave Allen? At least I knew why my mum didn’t like Judith Chalmers…

It’s good to talk

A TV campaign back in the day for BT used the marketing slogan “it’s good to talk”. Well it certainly is. Although I suppose it’s equally good to listen. And, if there’s nobody willing to do either then why not jot down some of your memories yourself?

Funeral for a Mum

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Today it is my sad honour to conduct the funeral of the mother of a good friend of mine.  Although all mum’s are different, it is often the same words that are repeated. Loving, giving, resilient, a shoulder to cry on… We can take these things for granted and then, one day, we are no longer granted that luxury.

I dreamt about my own mum last night. It is not uncommon. She lived in a treehouse and I went to visit her. It was strangely vivid, just like my mum was. So, in honour of my own mum, around the third anniversary of her final goodbye and, in honour of Diane and her lovely family and her mum who “had a smile that could light up a room”, I have dug out the eulogy I presented on that day in April 2016.

If you knew my mum I hope this will bring back memories. If you didn’t then perhaps it will make you feel as though you did.

Larger than Life!

“My mum was often larger than life.

And she was always larger than my dad.

One of the many things Reverend Steer told us  was that today needed to be all about mum. It had to be everything she would want. What she didn’t want was people laughing at her funeral. She wanted mourning not mirth. And now I’ve gone and made you laugh.

I’m not going to apologise for that. You see, the way I look at it, we have two choices. We can choose to be sad that she is gone or we can choose to be happy that she was here. I am planning to choose the second option and I hope you will choose to join me.

I did have some problems when I started writing this tribute. It wasn’t that I didn’t have enough material, there was plenty of that, it was something far more practical. I wasn’t sure what terminology to use. You see, although she was mum to Stuart, Peter and me, she was a wife to my dad, a nanny to Matt and Nathan, a mother-in-law to Jenny, Tracy and Allison, a sister to Ern, a sister-in-law to some of you, an aunt to many of you and a friend to all of you. I then figured that it wouldn’t matter what I called her as the words I used could only be describing one person.

Don’t die a copy…

One of mum’s favourite sayings – and she had quite a few – was “you were born an original, make sure you don’t die a copy”. She certainly didn’t do that.

Mum was born in 1938 which made her 77 when she died. This isn’t old. Not by today’s standards, but she fitted a huge amount of happiness, warmth and love into those decades and, I truly believe, that when she felt unable and too unwell to be the force of nature that she had always been, then she was ready to leave us. If she couldn’t be centre stage any more then she certainly wasn’t going to be the supporting act. Mum, as you will know, always did things on her terms.

I don’t want to make this into a chronological trawl through her life. I don’t want to point out milestones and timelines for offices, shops and factories where she worked or houses and places that she lived. These are just things people do. It’s what people are that really matters and that’s what I want to focus on and remember today.

Mum was contrary, caring and kind.

She could also be feisty, particularly in her younger days. Although she once told me that she wouldn’t have to argue if only people would just agree with her in the first place…

She had so much charisma that, as a shy child and an even shyer teenager, I would watch her with awe and admiration in the faint hope that some of it might spill over onto me.

She was the type of person who could radiate energy and warmth and people would respond to this and gravitate towards her. Possibly without even knowing why they were doing so. She loved people who made her laugh and she made other people laugh. Especially if she thought it would make them feel better.

“but will I be able to swim?”

For most women a mastectomy would be pretty devastating and the surgeon was probably feeling nervous about breaking the news of the radical operation to his patient. He needn’t have worried. Rather than all the normal questions a worried cancer sufferer might ask, mum simply said “but will I be able to swim?” Of course you’ll be able to swim Mrs Terry, he gratefully reassured her. “That’s good” she said “because I couldn’t swim before”.

Funnily enough she finally learnt to swim when she was well into her sixties. If mum wanted to do something then she would do it. And if she didn’t then she wouldn’t. It was as simple as that.

Mum was never the type of person to utter the words “I don’t know” or “I don’t mind”. She always knew her own mind. And things were very black and white.

She didn’t like watching the news. She thought pansies were a waste of garden. She would never wear beige. And, for some reason, she took against Zoe Ball and Gloria Hunniford.

There were a lot of things she didn’t like but plenty of things that she loved.

She loved to dream; she loved films, parties, dancing, Christmas, music, her friends, her children, long conversations, holidays. My dad.

I need to talk about her relationship with my dad because it was the foundation that her life was built upon. This would have been the sixtieth year they had spent together and, like all couples, there were ups and downs. Sickness and health. Poverty and wealth. I’m not disputing that there might have been the odd argument or disagreement. You might have heard some of them… But when the chips were down they stuck together and one of the things I admired so much about them both was their resilience and optimism. My mum had no room for regrets or self-doubt. You always had to make the best of what you had and she always did.

Dad wore the trousers. Mum told him which ones to wear…

Where their relationship and our family were concerned though, my dad always wore the trousers. It was just that my mum always told him which ones to wear.

My mum also loved London and was intensely proud of being a Londoner. Nonetheless they moved to Thetford in 1963 in order to make a better future for their young family and, although she was horribly homesick for a long time, she did what she always did and made the very best of life. Making some lifelong friends and creating some very special memories for us all.

In fact it was to Thetford that I brought some of my Army friends back in 1982. I had forgotten all about it but lots of people have been in touch over these past few weeks with their kind words and memories and one of them told me that she always remembers the first time she met my mum. In her vivid recollection the room was full of light from the recently installed patio doors and mum was wearing a brightly coloured dress. She had made cakes and prepared more food than any of us could possible eat. And she was laughing. I remember thinking, said my friend, what a lovely, happy childhood you must have had. She was right. We did.

It was difficult choosing a piece of music for this occasion. Mum loved all types of music and it was hard to pinpoint one particular song to identify with her. She loved Frank Sinatra and Johnnie Ray. She liked Motown and Abba, rock ‘n’ roll and country. She liked music she could dance to and she even liked the sound of my dad crooning in the bath. However, after much discussion, we chose You Light Up My Life because that was what she said that we did to her and it was definitely what she did for us.

I hope, as you listen to this, you will be filled with the personal happy memories that you have and I hope that we can all take comfort in the happiness she brought to us. Her personal light will never diminish in our memories.”

 

Choosing the right music for a funeral

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Why your music choice is so important

We had terrible trouble choosing the music for my mum’s funeral.

It’s not that my mum didn’t like music. Far from it. She loved music. All different kinds of music. From Abba to ZZ Top and everything in between. She loved pop and fifties rock, jazz, Motown and the Great American Songbook. The problem we had, and one that seems to be shared by so many, is identifying a single piece of music with her.

My dad requested an obscure and melancholy country music song that I had never heard them play but must have been something reserved for the precious time they had left together.

I remember my mum belting out Build me up Buttercup as she dished up our tea when we came home from school. I can still see her dancing at parties to Chain Reaction or Dancing Queen, flashing glimpses of a cleavage she was so proud of until breast cancer ruined it, just as she turned fifty.

Who wants to live forever?

Neither of those choices seemed particularly suitable for the occasion.

Getting the right music for a ceremony, whether it is a happy occasion or a funeral, is so important. Music evokes memories. It instantly take us back to a place that only we know. It has to be chosen with care and love. And with lots of thought.

Whether or not anybody really does choose funeral classics such as Who Wants to Live Forever, Knock on Wood or Light My Fire is up for discussion. I do know that my aunt’s coffin was accompanied by the tinny strains of the Chelsea FC football song, Blue is the Colour. That certainly turned some heads although luckily my aunt did actually support Chelsea. Perhaps not quite as much as my cousin did though…

It’s definitely worth listening to the whole of the song to make sure there aren’t any surprise lyrics lurking in the second or third verse. Or even words that can be mistaken for others. You also have to be aware that whatever music you choose will always remind you of the occasion and this may prove painful. My mother-in-law can never listen to Celine Dion singing My Heart Does Go On without bursting into tears at the thought of her cousin’s funeral. Personally I can’t hear it without thinking of Peter Kay mishearing the lyrics as My Hot Dog Goes On.

You also need to make sure that, once you’ve chosen some music, there is absolutely no doubt about the version or the performer you want. The love of my life wants Somewhere over the Rainbow to be played when she finally calls it a day but certainly not the Judy Garland version, or even the Eva Cassidy one. She wants the reggae version by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole. It’s almost a completely different song and I would never forgive myself or be forgiven if I got that wrong.

In my mum’s case we eventually settled on bringing her into the crematorium to a version of You’ll Never Walk Alone. It wasn’t the most original choice but it does have meaningful and beautiful words when not being chanted by a crowd of football fans. We reflected to the sweet but slightly bland You Light Up My Life because she always told us that we lit up her life and she certainly lit up ours. I’m not convinced she would have chosen either of those songs though and that still bothers me.

It might sound morbid but maybe it’s worth a conversation?