Forgive my black humour but it is not often I pick up The Metro and come away ironically cheerful. Yesterday proved the exception.
So there it was: the feature on ‘Death’ nestled cosily beside the feature on ‘Life’. The latter was pleasantly informative; eat this, don’t eat that, Stay Away From The Cliff (rock & Richard).
But what if you do, ya know, die? Does the party end there? “Hell No!” says The Metro. On the contrary; this is where things get lively. Where life forces you to pick out a T-Shirt, death demands your metamorphosis – into a Catherine Wheel.
According to *insert forgotten death expert here* one’s ashes can be incorporated into a fireworks display post-mort. Urns are so passé and generally overlooked by your average Wilkinsons unlike, say, the common sparkler.
Even so, I was sceptical about the whole idea (I’m messy enough without bits of me scattered all over London – it’d be a nightmare to hoover). That is, until I read Getting creative after cremation. Apparently, they’re not so self-conscious in America. Well, quite.
Nick Drobins, whose Angels Flight company in Castaic disperses remains in fireworks shot over the ocean, had this to say:
Often, it’s the person being remembered who did the choosing. They line up the service ahead of time, picking the song and the colour of the fireworks. (The Irish like green.)
Ordering rocket just took on a whole new meaning.