Dear ______,
You may have paused, while counting your money, to wonder why I have not been sending you the instructive letters which hitherto have been characteristic of our relationship.
I feel it is now time for me to reveal all. You see, I have been reflecting on my approaching death. As you know, I always like to be prepared. I don't want death to creep up on me unnoticed. It is not enough to rely on the meanness of the insurance industry to defer my parting until a financially satisfactory moment. I need to take some positive steps.
I have joined a group which shares the burden of the final summons. It is called the Last Sleep Society. We normally meet in the crypt of the Brent Cross Lodge Interment Facility. (It's on the E1 bus route, starting from Ealing Broadway bus station. It is a convenient death venue located close to Ealing Hospital.)
Our group meets together twice a week, but we also have individual sessions with our Tutor. (I don't know his real name. We just address our cheques to The Grim Reaper.) At first, I was not sure how much instruction I would require in practicing my Welcome Release. Fortunately, Grimmy is very experienced and made it perfectly clear. "How much cash have you got?" he asked.
Strangely, all our meetings involve money. I had not realised that mortality was so monetary. For example, did you know that you can have our ashes distributed throughout Ealing – by rocket? On the nominated day you are packed in your aerial container. You are sent off and you explode over your chosen patch. You can hear the little children cry "There goes Granny!" Price per flight is only £750.
As I get into this business, I realise how complex it can be. For example, a fortnight ago I attended a presentation on Cadaver Care – with photographs. Afterwards, we were allowed to practice cadaver cosmetics and take photographs as solace for our loved ones. It was announced last week that we were to attend an exhibition of fashion death wear – "the latest exciting thing in shrouds"!
We met last Wednesday in the back bar of The Last Round. Strangely the female members were reluctant to model these rather fetching numbers. So, a number of men, myself included, volunteered to don makeup and do the job – purely for demonstration purposes.
Unfortunately, the back bar of The Last Round has no separate toilet. Our toilet passage was shared with that of The Double Top annex, which that night was hosting a visiting darts team from Acton. The trouble started with a few unsympathetic enquiries: "Can we join you in your nighties?" "You on a ghost writing course, then?" It quickly became violent and we were all evicted.
Of course, it was difficult to explain to the police satisfactorily. We might have left without charge had Grimmy not tried to recruit the desk sergeant to our cause. Our case comes up next Thursday. This is fortunate since I am appearing on a separate matter that same day.
I'll let you know how I get on.
Yours,
Conrad
