Ġ: Bob Dylan was spot on when he sang that the times they are a-changing; I remember the time when, in a month, like in the film, I had four invites to weddings; and then, there was the occasional funeral. Now it's the other way round.
J: Now you understand why I was worried to death when the hearse-drivers went on strike.
Ġ: If there is a song that fits the John Bray's dozen, it's the Largo al factotum della citta (di Malta). Besides lots of room in which to manoeuvre, they need the support of the unions, government, clergy, nurses, flower sellers; the list is endless. Like Figaro they furnish you with all your burial requirements. And there's a whole pile of work needing to be farmed out. Also it does not come cheap. But then you don't want to meet your Maker with your collar button missing.
Ġ: Oh yes; we're always talking about the rising cost of living; we got the chance to talk about the rising costs of death. You do realise we each must die?
J: Of course I know I must die. But something tells me not yet.
Ġ: Why?
J: Well, it's a Sunday and it's only half past three in the afternoon...
Ġ: You must be crazy! No one knows when God in his infinite wisdom will choose to send us Ċensa l-Mewt (the colloquial Maltese has a she for the finality that is death).
J: Granted. But chances are she won't be making the pounce at this time of the day.
Ġ: Have you ever given a thought to what you would like them to put on your tombstone?
J: Of course. Now that death has been liberalised I would prefer something short and simple.
Ġ: What?
J: Same note they put on the door of the police station, Back in Five Minutes.
Ġ: Cleverest epitaph ever is credited to this fellow, a Welshman, who was asked to carve out: Born a virgin, Lived a virgin, Died a virgin. Apparently there wasn't enough space to fit all those words. So he condensed everything to Returned Unopened. Clever eh? In fact the Post Office has adopted it as a postmark.
J: If you say so. Oh yes Dylan was right. Not only The Times a-changeth typographically, but my attitude to The Times has changed radically. I recall the times when my first read were the penultimate pages, namely: the sporting stuff. Then work beckoned me towards the inside pages, dance-theatre-film, reviews insomma, while now I find myself doing the obits first!
Ġ: Obituaries are always in alphabetical order. For a time I thought that the Maltese actually died in alphabetical order, so as to help Malta achieve a top reading in some EU barometer.
J: Going back to burials, why do you think cremation has never been discussed locally? If death is demo-cratic, cremation is even more.
Ġ: With cremation you might even get to say: I've got one foot in the grate...
J: You mean grave, surely?
Ġ: No, no. It's grate alright. It's the iron thingy from where the smoke comes out.
J: I think I'd like to have seen my wife cremated, poor soul. In over 35 years of marriage I'd never seen her get real hot once! Incidentally, I almost forgot to tell you, do you know that before each burial the tomb gets cleaned up?
Ġ: How's that?
J: Mela, all the previous bones and stuff are tidied up in boxes, or bags, to make room for the new tenant. Cremation does away with all this too.
Ġ: Had Il-Pike had his way we would have been spared all this...
J: You're always mentioning him; he's the funnyman of the early 1950s right?
Ġ: Il-Pike was Malta's Chesterton, Bernard Shaw and Oscar Wilde rolled into one. Very popular for his after dinner speeches. "Life should be lived backwards," he used to say. "You start out dead and get that out of the way. Then you wake up in an old people's home feeling better every day. You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect your pension, and then when you start work, you get a gold watch and a party on your first day. You work for 40 years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. Then you party until you are ready for school. You then become a kid, you play, you become a baby until you are born. And then it's nine months floating in luxury until you finish off as an orgasm!"
J: Now you understand why I was worried to death when the hearse-drivers went on strike.
Ġ: If there is a song that fits the John Bray's dozen, it's the Largo al factotum della citta (di Malta). Besides lots of room in which to manoeuvre, they need the support of the unions, government, clergy, nurses, flower sellers; the list is endless. Like Figaro they furnish you with all your burial requirements. And there's a whole pile of work needing to be farmed out. Also it does not come cheap. But then you don't want to meet your Maker with your collar button missing.
Ġ: Oh yes; we're always talking about the rising cost of living; we got the chance to talk about the rising costs of death. You do realise we each must die?
J: Of course I know I must die. But something tells me not yet.
Ġ: Why?
J: Well, it's a Sunday and it's only half past three in the afternoon...
Ġ: You must be crazy! No one knows when God in his infinite wisdom will choose to send us Ċensa l-Mewt (the colloquial Maltese has a she for the finality that is death).
J: Granted. But chances are she won't be making the pounce at this time of the day.
Ġ: Have you ever given a thought to what you would like them to put on your tombstone?
J: Of course. Now that death has been liberalised I would prefer something short and simple.
Ġ: What?
J: Same note they put on the door of the police station, Back in Five Minutes.
Ġ: Cleverest epitaph ever is credited to this fellow, a Welshman, who was asked to carve out: Born a virgin, Lived a virgin, Died a virgin. Apparently there wasn't enough space to fit all those words. So he condensed everything to Returned Unopened. Clever eh? In fact the Post Office has adopted it as a postmark.
J: If you say so. Oh yes Dylan was right. Not only The Times a-changeth typographically, but my attitude to The Times has changed radically. I recall the times when my first read were the penultimate pages, namely: the sporting stuff. Then work beckoned me towards the inside pages, dance-theatre-film, reviews insomma, while now I find myself doing the obits first!
Ġ: Obituaries are always in alphabetical order. For a time I thought that the Maltese actually died in alphabetical order, so as to help Malta achieve a top reading in some EU barometer.
J: Going back to burials, why do you think cremation has never been discussed locally? If death is demo-cratic, cremation is even more.
Ġ: With cremation you might even get to say: I've got one foot in the grate...
J: You mean grave, surely?
Ġ: No, no. It's grate alright. It's the iron thingy from where the smoke comes out.
J: I think I'd like to have seen my wife cremated, poor soul. In over 35 years of marriage I'd never seen her get real hot once! Incidentally, I almost forgot to tell you, do you know that before each burial the tomb gets cleaned up?
Ġ: How's that?
J: Mela, all the previous bones and stuff are tidied up in boxes, or bags, to make room for the new tenant. Cremation does away with all this too.
Ġ: Had Il-Pike had his way we would have been spared all this...
J: You're always mentioning him; he's the funnyman of the early 1950s right?
Ġ: Il-Pike was Malta's Chesterton, Bernard Shaw and Oscar Wilde rolled into one. Very popular for his after dinner speeches. "Life should be lived backwards," he used to say. "You start out dead and get that out of the way. Then you wake up in an old people's home feeling better every day. You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect your pension, and then when you start work, you get a gold watch and a party on your first day. You work for 40 years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. Then you party until you are ready for school. You then become a kid, you play, you become a baby until you are born. And then it's nine months floating in luxury until you finish off as an orgasm!"