Because I work in the modern age of media, I’ve sat through my fair share of bombshell meetings where half the company suddenly finds out they are being made redundant. During one such announcement, a smarmy-suited gent from one of the finance teams calmly took out a Post-It, wrote “Order business cards” and then rather camply added the word “EMBOSSED” in capital letters.
I had a worry I was being equally narcissistic amid sadness when I went to a funeral recently. This was to mark the death of a very dear, beautiful friend. It was the first funeral I’d been to since I was six; the first time I’d lost a peer, a pal, a buddy. I grieved for him before, during and after the service – so I don’t feel like I did him an emotional disservice by lapsing off for a moment. But gathered in a funeral chapel in Skegness, I did nonetheless find myself wondering: does anybody love me enough to make all this happen when I die?
