Ashes to ...

Apparently there is life after the inferno – and not just in the spiritual sense. Cremation always seemed so much more civilised than a coffin burial; rather than decaying in a box, cremation offers a cleaner, express exit from the world of the living. This was until I discovered the creepy underworld of cremation. Scattering remains over a cliff top during an emotional tribute is simply passé. Ashes, on the other hand, can be mixed in with virtually anything. There are literally hundreds of companies effectively waiting in the wings of the funeral parlour ready to sell you back your relative as soon as the music stops playing. When the day finally arrives – and I sincerely hope it is way in the future when my own health starts to ail – I don’t want my dear mother melted down into a cat and placed on the mantelpiece. The problem is other people don’t mind having grandpa Bill made into a spitfire, or heaven forbid, a mug. Can you imagine the look on the face of an unsuspecting guest when you reveal to them they are in fact supping from aunt Nerys? Environmentalists can even send their dearly departed out into the ocean in the form of a moulded Reef Ball. Slumped over a bar at the wake, conversations would run something like this: "Sorry to hear about your dad." "Oh don’t worry; he’s at the bottom of the Atlantic helping build up deteriorating coral reefs and creating a new marine environment off the coast of Florida."