I went to a funeral today - it was packed out with standing room only. The guy who died had lived in the village since 1975 (1985?) and had been involved in many things. He was only 68 and died rather suddenly. I hope I'll have as many people at my funeral.
Going to funerals always leaves me thinking about mortality, mine in particular. I was brought up as a high Anglican, and used to read the interesting bits in the Book of Common Prayer during boring sermons. Consequently, I can recite all the liturgy from memory. The best church I ever went to was the Free Church in Germany - not the slightest bit stuffy but not too modern. Since I came back to the UK I've been a fair-weather churchgoer - high days and holidays only - but I sometimes wish I had a proper faith that I could depend on. I'm not sure if it would help when I'm ill, as everything deserts me when I'm depressed. I used to be convinced that there was an afterlife; now I'm not sure. I suppose I'm a lapsed Christian. I have, however, planned my funeral - lots of stirring military music and some rousing hymns, with a couple of readings thrown in.
As you can see, I'm awake again. This time it's bitter lemon and fags. I shall try to get some sleep as soon as the thing I'm downloading has finished.
I spent 16 years in the RAF defending the Free World , then got bunged out unceremoniously for being bipolar. I and was subsequently diagnosed with PTSD. Funny old world, isn't it?