Funeral rules

Travelling Aunty is passing through, en route to a black-attired funeral party. She assures me the funeral is not mine, which cheers me a little. I yet have time to share with my junior grits a few more observations about the sparkle that is life.

But the very idea of a funeral prompts me to the opposite with pots of yellow tulips and birthday cupcakes (even though it isn't anybody's birthday), decorated and ignited courtesy of Squirrel. Then, over tea, I lay down the laws for my star turn.

First, and most importantly, I plan to die in the upstairs bedroom to cause maximum inconvenience to everyone. You won't be able to get my body round the dog leg of the stairs without knocking the geology collection off the walls. Someone will suggest lowering me out the attic window because it will be easier. This is a good plan. I endorse it. The ropes you will need are in the garage.

From then on:

1. No black. If anyone dares wear black for me, I shall rise up from my coffin and with my bony fingers (possibly broken off in the attempt to hoist me over the banisters) jab their eyes until they swap the sombre for silver sparkle, brilliant reds and pointy heels. Men included.

2. I want laughter. If I do not hear laughter, I will hover about your heads, snatching at your ears and spitting in your hair. Laugh, damn you, laugh.

3. Music. And dancing. The latter preferably not on my coffin, but if you are driven to it, then do it. So what? I will have a playlist of an eclectic variety. It may go on a bit and be a touch WTF? but there is no getting round it. I want it from beginning to end otherwise the hauntings begin.

4. Art. I want a mini book like we did for Granny K, but mine is to be filled with Important Photographs of my life, and must include some from Malaysia where I made a rule to only photograph the ground. If you fail on this, you may hear my menacing screeching howls. Simpler to comply.

5. Flowers. I stole this idea from Peepah and it is a good one. Gritlets, you are to bundle up lots of posies - I want daisies and birds of paradise - then you are to hand them out to all party goers. (There will only be a couple, so it shouldn't be onerous.) Failure to do this will mean I pinch your ankles and bite your heels until they bleed.

6. Party. I want drinking and merriment, tomfoolery, naughtiness, mischief. And only when I feel the event has passed suitably will I let you all go, safe to your own beds.

PS Enjoy the cake.