Funeral Fun

I’m not sure if you are supposed to have a good time at a funeral, but I have had a cracking day!
The only downside is that I didn’t know a Requiem Mass could be 2 and a half hours long.
My arse is numb, my knees are caning me and if I hear the words,
‘Offer it up’, one more time……

There were a varied array of Nuns on display, a selection of Carmelites, Monks, at least 30 Priests, (many, escorted and bewildered looking) 2 Bishops and an Arch-Bishop.
Not a single one of them under 40.

The waiting for it to kick off was endless.
Especially when you don’t want to talk to people and spend a lot of time staring at the floor.
What does happen though, is you get to look at a lot of shoes.
I saw a high proportion of what could be described as ‘Bi-Curious’ shoes.
Not quite the flat, sensible Brogue but not a high heel either.
Ecco and Clarkes, that kind of thing.
Many of them attached to ‘suspect’ looking Nuns.

I knew it was going to be good when the bloke swinging the smoking brass thing around, twatted it straight in to the coffin.
I grinned, raised my eyes to heaven and thanked the department above that looks out for easily bored, very stoned lesbians!
Astoundingly, I could remember all the responses and found myself chuntering along.
To tell the truth, it was quite soothing.
Like being part of something ‘tribal’, all chanting at the same time. It makes the hairs on my arms stand up for some reason.

Loads of water was flung around with a huge pastry brush, thing!
Everybody had something to say and all the bits I was used to just saying, had to be sung.
Are people born knowing these tunes?
I had forgotten how much ‘up and down-ing’ there is at Mass and this was doubled.
There were over 30 cars following the hearse to the cemetery through West Wickham and Croydon. The car I was in (and the tossers following us!) lost the convoy. We pulled in to a bus stop to confer with those behind.
I lowered the window and asked a bloke at the stop if he’d seen a funeral pass by.
He hadn’t.
He didn’t know where the nearest bone yard was either.

Then a Renault Clio, chock full of Nuns bimbled passed. I think it is part of their vows, ‘No shagging, no shopping, they are not allowed to get out of second gear or have less than six in a car‘.
The Wacky Races were back on.
Unfortunately, Sister Mary ‘I’m fine, I can see through the steering wheel’ was going so slow, she lost who she was following.
Probably forgot.
I ended up looking like some ‘special’ person doing their impression of a Labrador.
Head stuck out the window trying to keep an eye on the car the Nuns are losing, as more and more people pull out in front of us.
“Faster! You Fuckers”, I was screaming at them on the roundabout at Addington.
I mimed pushing them faster.
They waved at us. Much hilarity in our car.

We made it in time.
As the box went in the hole, it fucking hailstoned on us.
A voice behind me said,
“Hail. Ah, tis a blessing“.
I wasn’t feeling very blessed.
Big stingy bastards got me in the ear, twice.
Then they tried to ‘float’ her.
I swear, everyone seemed to produce their own supply of holy water and squirted it in the hole.

It could have been worse.
At least I now know, just go to the cemetery bit.
15 minutes tops.