Humour

Lost in translation

18 June 2012
Charles
1 Comment
Categories: Humour

From yesterday’s Guardian newspaper: 

Everyone in Israel is talking about the British-American BBC comedy Episodes. Not that it is airing there, but the show has recently become famous for its disastrous use of freebie online translation.

In episode three, Merc Lapidus, one of the lead characters, attends the funeral of his father. The episode was shown in the UK several weeks ago and is airing in the US later this summer.The gravestone, as per Jewish tradition, is bilingual – the local vernacular, in this case English, along with Hebrew. But the entire Hebrew inscription is written backwards, starting with the last letter and working back to the first. The reason, of course, is that Hebrew runs in the opposite direction from English, from right to left. And it gets worse. If you go to the trouble of reading the text, you’ll discover that the man commemorated, a certain Yuhudi Penzel, has been “pickled at great expense”. This is what you get if you use Google Translate to render “dearly missed” into Hebrew. The blooper is now going viral in Israel.

Hat tip to SweetPea.

The first f***

12 April 2012
Charles
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Categories: Attitudes to death, funeral, Humour, Memorial service

Posted by Vale

A favourite – even hackneyed – funeral song. The words really work though – and it’s the only possible accompaniment to this short video of some of the tributes at Graham Chapman’s memorial service. Was this – as John Cleese claims – really the first f*** at a memorial service?

Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse
When you’re chewing on life’s gristle
Don’t grumble, give a whistle
And this’ll help things turn out for the best
And…

Always look on the bright side of life (whistle)
Always look on the light side of life (whistle)
If life seems jolly rotten
There’s something you’ve forgotten
And that’s to laugh and smile and dance and sing

When you’re feeling in the dumps
Don’t be silly chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle – that’s the thing
And…

Always look on the bright side of life… (whistle)
Come on!
Always look on the bright side of life… (whistle)

For life is quite absurd
And death’s the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow
Forget about your sin – give the audience a grin
Enjoy it – it’s your last chance anyhow

So always look on the bright side of death (whistle)
Just before you draw your terminal breath (whistle)
Life’s a piece of shit
When you look at it

Life’s a laugh and death’s a joke, it’s true
You’ll see it’s all a show
Keep ’em laughing as you go
Just remember that the last laugh is on you

And always look on the bright side of life
Always look on the right side of life (whistle)
Always look on the bright side of life (whistle)
Always look on the bright side of life (whistle)

All things bright and beautiful?

11 April 2012
Charles
5 Comments
Categories: ceremony, funeral music, Humour, music

Posted by Belinda Forbes

The sun is shining again here in leafy Berkshire.  The mourners no longer need to huddle for warmth in the crematorium waiting room.  The cruel winter wind that has been whipping across the chapel entrance is now a gentle breeze.  Unfortunately, I’m allergic to tree pollen so it’s not all good news.

Although I am a secular funeral celebrant, I’m often asked if a hymn is‘allowed’.  The most common reason people give for requesting hymns at an essentially non-religious funeral is that they want to sing something.  And for many people the thought of singing something secular is just too daunting.  It is possible of course and we’ve sung along to Always Look on The Bright Side of Life (works best with two or three extroverts leading the singing from the front); Danny Boy and the fiendishly difficult Bridge Over Troubled Water amongst others.

By far the most common hymn requested by my clients is All Things Bright & Beautiful closely followed by Morning Has Broken.  A love of nature andgardening or a desire to have something that ‘isn’t too depressing or sombre’ are  the usual reasons given.

One brave family whose late mother adored her garden asked if we could sing, In An English Country Garden.  They didn’t want a choir and all the versions recorded with vocals were either unsuitable or tricky to sing along to.  So we opted for an instrumental version recorded by the Albion Song Society.  To my surprise and delight it went remarkably well.  With a little practice (at home with an understanding friend) to get the timing right, we discovered that it’s easier to sing than All Things Bright & Beautiful.  If any celebrants or choirs out there would like to give it a go, here are the words:

Percy Grainger’s An English Country Garden

How many kinds of sweet flowers grow
In an English country garden?
We’ll tell you now of some buy cialis via paypal that we know
Those we miss you’ll surely pardon
Daffodils, heart’s ease and phlox
Meadowsweet and lady smocks
Gentian, lupin and tall hollyhocks
Roses, foxgloves, snowdrops, forget-me-nots
In an English country garden.

How many insects come here and go
In an English country garden?
We’ll tell you now of some that we know
Those we miss you’ll surely pardon
Fireflies, moths, and bees
Spiders climbing in the trees
Butterflies drift in the gentle breeze
There are snails, ants that sting
And other creeping things
In an English country garden.

How many songbirds fly to and fro
In an English country garden?
We’ll tell you now of some that we know
Those we miss you’ll surely pardon
Blackbird, cuckoo and quail
Robin and turtle dove

Bluetit, lark, thrush and nightingale
There is joy in the spring
When the birds begin to sing
In an English country garden.

For those gardeners who would prefer a little more realism, there’s this version of All Things Bright & Beautiful:

All things bright and beautiful,

All creatures great and small,

All things wise and wonderful

The Lord God made them all.

But what we never mention

Though gardeners know it’s true

Is when he made the goodies

He made the baddies too

All things spray and swattable

Disasters great and small

All things paraquattable

The Lord God made them all

The fungus on the goose-gogs

The club root on the greens

The slugs that eat the lettuce

And chew the aubergines

All things spray…

The drought that kills the fuchsias

The frost that nips the buds

The rain that drowns the seedlings

The blight that hits the spuds

All things spray…

The midges and mosquitoes

The nettles and the weeds

The pigeons in the green stuff

The sparrows on the seeds

All things spray…

The fly that gets the carrots

The wasp that eat the plums

How black the gardener’s outlook

Though green may be his thumbs

All things spray…

But still we gardeners labour

Midst vegetables and flowers

And pray what hits our neighbours

Will somehow bypass ours

All things spray…

 

 

Put me out with the rubbish!

1 April 2012
Charles
11 Comments
Categories: Humour

Posted by Vale

We’ve all heard people say it, but now an extensive survey carried out by a major national chain has confirmed it: 61.5% of adult males over the age of 60 really do want to be put into a black plastic bag and thrown on the rubbish heap.

In response to what they see as an overwhelming vote amongst the target demographic a new bag based service is currently being planned. A spokesman said today ‘we see it as another choice for our customers. If it’s what they want, who are we not to try to exploit them’.

In spite of the demand no launch date for the new service has yet been set. ‘It’s taking longer than we thought it would to agree collection arrangments with local councils. They’re just not as customer driven as we are and are raising all sorts of objections to picking up the bags with the weekly collection.’

One option being considered to overcome Council objections is the the coffin bin which, being wheeled, will better fit with modern collection methods.

Here at the GFG Batesville Tower, we can see that this informality is part of the same trend that is shaping the direct cremation business – but shouldn’t there be some thought about the bagging process? Come on you celebrants out there – if we have to ‘bag and tag’ what sort of ceremony could be held as grandad is being popped in? Or, if that is being done by the funeral director, how do we ritualise the journey, by bag or in wheeled bin, to the kerbside?

Last Will and Testament

29 February 2012
Charles
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Categories: funeral customs, Humour, music

Posted by Vale

The late, very great and much lamented Jake Thackray with his Last Will and Testament. By the way, isn’t You Tube a marvel? This version is awfully close to the black and white On the Braden Beat Saturday night image that flickers in my memory. Astonishing to find it preserved here:

I, the under-mentioned, by this document
Do declare my true intentions, my last will, my testament.
When I turn up my toes, when I rattle my clack, when I agonise,
I want no great wet weepings, no tearing of hair, no wringing of hands,
No sighs, no lack-a-days, no woe-is-me’s and none of your sad adieus.
Go, go, go and get the priest and then go get the booze, boys.

Death, where is thy victory? Grave, where is thy sting?
When I snuff it bury me quickly, then let carousels begin –
But not a do with a few ham sandwiches, a sausage roll or two and “A small port wine, please”.
Roll the carpet right back, get cracking with your old Gay Gordons
And your knees up, shake it up, live it up, sup it up, hell of a kind of a time.
And if the coppers come around, well, tell them the party’s mine, boys.

Let best beef be eaten, fill every empty glass,
Let no breast be beaten, let no tooth be gnashed.
Don’t bother with a fancy tombstone or a big-deal angel or a little copper flower pot:
Grow a dog-rose in my eyes or a pussy-willow
But no forget-me-nots, no epitaphs, no keepsakes; you can let my memory slip.
You can say a prayer or two for me soul then, but – make it quick, boys.

Lady, if your bosom is heaving don’t waste your bosom on me.
Let it heave for a man who’s breathing, a man who can feel, a man who can see.
And to my cronies: you can read my books, you can drive around in my motor car.
And you can fish your trout with my fly and tackle, you can play on my guitar,
And sing my songs, wear my shirts. You can even settle my debts.
You can kiss my little missus if she’s willing then, but – no regrets, boys.

Your rosebuds are numbered;
Gather them now for rosebuds’ sake.
And if your hands aren’t too encumbered
Gather a bud or two for Jake.

If you want to find out more about Jake, there’s lots here.

Joke of the day – RIP Frank Carson

25 February 2012
Charles
No comments
Categories: Humour

Posted by Vale

“Fella said, ‘Your mother-in-law has just died. Do you want her embalmed, buried or cremated?’ He said: ‘Take no chances: give her the lot.'”

It was the way he told them.

Quote of the day

24 February 2012
Charles
1 Comment
Categories: Humour

“It’s a bit tragic though, isn’t it, when the only social life you have is going to funerals? They’re not quite as joyful as a wedding. But look on the bright side. At least you don’t need an invite and you don’t have to bring a present.”

Ask Agnes, agony aunt, Horsham Australia — here

Blues dispersal initiative

16 January 2012
Charles
No comments
Categories: Humour, Longevity

We’ve just read in the Guardian that today is reckoned to be the most depressing of the year. Gosh. If you are sitting in a puddle of seasonal misery and wretchedness, this may cheer you up:

I recently changed primary care physician. After a comprehensive history and physical exam and a bunch of lab tests, she said I was doing “fairly well for my age.”

I did not like that comment so I asked her: Do you think I will live to 85?

She asked: Do you smoke tobacco or drink alcohol? Oh no, I replied. And I don’t do other drugs either.

She said: Do you have many friends and entertain frequently? I answered: No, I usually stay at home and keep to myself.

She asked: Do you eat rib eye steaks and barbecued pork? I said: No, my other doctor told me all meat is unhealthy.

She asked: Do you spend a lot of time in the sun, like playing golf, sailing, hiking, or bicycling? No, I don’t, I said.

She persisted: Do you gamble, drive fast cars, or have a lot of sex. I said, No, I don’t do any of those things.

So, she looked at me and said, then why do you give a (expletive deleted) whether you will make it to 85?

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