For all the horror and tragedy of death, the aftermaths of many bereavements produce unexpected moments of light relief. As long as the deceased is an adult who has lived to a ripe old age, you can pretty much guarantee that there will be some sudden instant – usually when you’re shoulder-deep in making the arrangements – that reduces you and perhaps a sibling or two to truly helpless giggles. We all need a pressure valve, and few things can be taken entirely seriously for 10 whole days.
Of course, you can never predict quite what is going to set you off. It might be as random as the undertaker leaning towards you, steepling his fingers, and asking in hushed tones bordering on reverence: “And did she have a favourite wood?” Nope, sorry. I’ve gone. I’ve absolutely gone.
