Always look on the bright side of life...

It probably was and for good reason.

I am, at this moment in time, bleak. I have never been so bleak since my ex-wife left me but decided to come back.

She went off with an actor who swore that he played no part in our break up.

She came back when she discovered he wasn’t in fact a leading man but only had a small part.

At the momen, my days are bleak and my nights are bleak. Bleak is now the new word in my life.

I am at my bleakest. My whole house is bleak. If there were a novel about my abode it would be called ‘Bleak House’.

I know what you’re thinking. ‘What is he on about’?

I am in mourning. I heard last week from Brian Ace Mechanic that Ronnie Rover has gone to the big garage in the sky.

He hadn’t been ill. He was, however, in much pain. He had been attacked by vandals and brutalised so Brian had to have him put down to stop his suffering.

He wasn’t alone. The vandals carried out wholesale massacre of elderly motors too weak to fight back.

Why do yobs want to mindlessly wreck cars?

If that were not enough to cope with, we were forced off he road by a maniac who it seemed wanted to smash in to the side of us and Abi Caravan ended up having a nasty experience.

She went under a height restriction barrier and was beheaded.

It was gruesome. There was caravan blood, guts, and plastic bits everywhere.

We took her to the Crippled Caravan Man but she couldn’t be saved. He is not crippled. Abi is, now.

He had a sense of humour when he didn’t need one. “This is what you call driving with the top down,” he said. “This is the only cabriolet caravan I have come across.”

Was that supposed to make me feel better? They say bad things come in threes but my catastrophes came in bucketsful.

I don’t there is actually a collective noun for catastrophes but bucketful works because other stuff comes in buckets and they’re both not pleasant.

My favourite watch, given to me by Ms Nomates, has broken its strap.

I know it’s only a strap to most, but to the watch, it was its soul mate. They had been together since birth.

I don’t even want to think about what to do with Lady Laundry.

The Washing Machine Man is coming round to give her a booster shot but I fear the worst.

She had a brown sock stuck in her flue and I think it’s done irreparable damage.

What I would like to know is who is the owner of the brown sock. I only ever buy black.

Is there a washing machine assassin on the loose?

Kia Carens is puffing and wheezing when I put my foot down although I suspect she is pretending to be ill so I’ll go easy on her.

She has learned that trick from Ms Nomates. But just say she is really ill, I will be racked with guilt for thinking such thoughts.

The TV is giving me signals that it isn’t receiving signals. It’s a sort of blank stare. You know what I mean, don’t you?

The list is endless. My world is crumbling. Everything seems to be dying around me.

I lie in bed thinking it could be me next, (I find lying to be the best position in bed) because you do, don’t you?

I start to dream, more of a nightmare really, and I sing in my sleep.

When this old world starts getting me down and people are just too much for me to face. I climb way up to the top of the stairs and all my cares just drift right in to space- la la la la- up on the roof.

Then I throw myself off.

Then I wake up thinking I’m dead and I can’t get back to sleep.

Then I get even more miserable thinking about when I die, what will my funeral be like.

Who will come?

My guess is that I won’t even be able to fill the first two pews, unless of course they lay me out on the front one and take up six seats.

My old man filled a church, so did other lovely people who I have had the pleasure of knowing.

I won’t name names but they know who they are. They read this in heaven, didn’t you know?

Then the big question. Cremated or buried? Hot or cold? Then I toss a coin but it lands in my tea, so am I to be buried at sea?

Charlie has a boat but he also goes fishing. He wouldn’t relish the idea of hooking me and bringing me back up.

But I’ll be dead so someone else will decide. I should leave instructions. Then I get to thinking about the service. I don’t really want to bore people when I’m dead, do I?

It wouldn’t be fair. I’ve bored them witless for years while alive. They deserve a break.

Then I get to thinking about the music to be played at the celebration of my life or the celebration of my death depending on someone’s point of view.

Hymns send me to sleep so they’re no good. I need to know what’s going on. I want to be an alert corpse. I want anyone who comes to my send off to leave the ceremony feeling happy.

Then I get to thinking I ought to book a band, partly because I quite fancy having live music but also because it will also help to swell the congregation.

Which songs would you choose? It’s not that easy when time is limited and there is so much music to choose from. I have made a list.

‘He ain’t heavy he’s my brother’ but my brothers will be cursing if they have to carry my coffin. I blame the pies and too many curries.

‘Another one bite’s the dust’ by Queen has chosen by quite a few apparently.

I like the idea of God singing, ‘Welcome to my world, won’t you come on in?’ What about the ‘The Theme From Benny Hill’ with bikini clad beauties running around my coffin? When you die, do you suppose one eye still works? I wonder if they could fix my right eye, my best one, on to the lid of my coffin?

I quite fancy turning up to my send-off in a Transit van just like in the old band days and falling out as if drunk (they were groups then not bands), carried into church and then, and only then, placed in my coffin to this tune.

Of course I wouldn’t be able to sing it. ‘You put his left arm in, you take his left arm out, you put his left arm in and you shake it all about’ etc. with a rousing finish, ‘you put his whole self in, you take his whole self out, you squeeze his whole self in and you cover him in stout’. We could let the kids join in. It would be cheaper than taking them to a theme park.

To make sure I’m locked in safe and sound I thought ‘Sledgehammer’ would be good.

Maybe one classical piece would add a little finesse to the proceedings. Maybe something by Lizt? I enjoy making lists. Making lists makes me happy and I would make one Lizt very happy.

If like myself you are struggling to find the right pieces to play here are a few suggestions. This was not easy research.

‘I’m leaving on a jet plane’. It’s good for the kids to believe you might one day come back.

‘I just died in your arms tonight’. What a great whodunit! The police will probably begin a murder investigation.

‘I shot the sheriff’. A dead man’s confession. That will confuse the police even more.

‘I don’t want to miss a thing’. So will somebody please make sure the coffin lid is left open until the last minute?

‘Knockin’ on heaven’s door’. It will be a hell of a shock if they let me in.

‘Wake me up before you go go’. Or ‘Knock three times on my coffin if you want me’.

‘Deeply Dippy’.

‘Three Steps to heaven’. And it’s still out of reach to me.

‘When I'm dead and gone, I want to leave some happy woman, living on’. Will Ms Nomates be pleased? Will she find somebody else quickly?

‘Always look on the bright side of life’.

‘Heat ninety eight point six’. And rising!

‘Workin’ in a coal mine’. I might as well make myself useful.

Much as I love making lists I don’t want to carry on with this one except to add one more.

My favourite choice would have to be Tchaikovsky’s ‘1812 Overture’ with all the bells and cannon fire.

As the performer in me knows, there’s no show without Punch and during my last appearance on the world stage I want the old showbiz adage to apply. Nobody sleeps when I’m on! It will be loud enough to wake the dead.

See, Ronnie Rover is still haunting me.

Readers who submit articles must agree to our terms of use. The content is the sole responsibility of the contributor and is unmoderated. But we will react if anything that breaks the rules comes to our attention. If you wish to complain about this article, contact us here