In the event of my death...

I'll admit that at times I've been a bit of a hypochondriac though I usually keep the thoughts of my horrible impending death to myself.  These thoughts only come after some sort of unusual and persistent new symptom.  A new ache or twinge somewhere unexpected? Cancer.  If it's not cancer then it's obviously Necrotizing fasciitis and my insides are turning to mush. 

I've had a weird point of pain in my throat for days now.  It feels like a mouth ulcer but down my throat.  Can you get throat ulcer?  Probably not so it's clearly cancer.

....or necrotizing fasciitis and my throat is turning to mush.

Another consideration is that due to my shit digestion and my near constant burning acid reflux my insides are being eroded away.  I sat miserably wondering whether, the tumour, mush or acid burn would result in me having to have surgery which would leave me with a  gigantic gaping hole in my throat to which I'd have to put a microphone to speak.  No one would understand me and all my friends ('ALL', she says) would shy away from me 'cause they would no longer understand a bleedin' word I said.  Hell, I know they'd feel guilty but truth is, they would be repulsed by my metallic, nonsensical way of speaking.  I'd sound like a train station announcer ALL THE TIME.  I'd have to give up work as the public would be terrified of me and my giant neck hole and I'd never do stand up again as the audience would be both repulsed and clueless as to what was going on.  On reflection, I'd probably do really well on those BBC or Channel 4 'right on' comedy shows. I could be one of the 'box ticker' comedians.  Not funny but inclusive.  

Faaaaaack.

I spoke to my pal Bison tonight.  We've been 'abusive pals' for years now.  If either of us said anything nice to the other I think our friendship would implode.  I asked him whether, due to my probable impending death, he'd come to my funeral.

BISON:  [impolite pause] Erm......well, it depends on where you're having it really.

Me: You utter bastard.  We've been friends for years and you won't even commit to coming to my funeral?  You only live at the other end of the country!

BISON: Well, you have to get a ferry.....do you know how much the ferries are?  They're wicked expensive aren't they.....then again, there's excellent fossil hunting in your neck of the woods.  I could make a holiday out of it and kill two birds with one stone.  

Me: [silence]........make a holiday out of my funeral?

BISON: [on a roll] Hell, those fossils aren't going to find themselves; do you think the Tidiness Nazi would let me stay over for a bit?

Me: Yeah, it would be in my room though.  THE ROOM I'LL HAVE INEVITABLY DIED IN.  You can sleep in my bed next to the stain of me that I left behind.  There'll probably even be an imprint of my smiling face in make-up on the pillow so you can feel close to me in death.

BISON: .......yeah, I'd probably bring a sleeping bag.

Me: [incredulous] You have really thought this through haven't you?  Actually, while you're there, I'm leaving you all my crap that no one else would want.  You'll be able to lie there and take stock of all of your new and shit belongings.  Together with my collection of contact lenses, you even get my 'interesting pants' collection which has the added bonus of not just being a pile of interesting underpants, they'll also have been next to my vadge!

BISON: WA-HEY!  Can I try on your bras too?

Me: [starting to believe he wasn't taking this very seriously] You could turn up to my funeral wearing my clothes if you really want

BISON: I'll just tell everyone it's what you would have wanted.....  

So you see, I can't even get any sympathy from dear friends in the face of real potential, maybe serious disease.  Probably.  I'm glad now that he's getting some of my most crap possessions.  In case my possibly imagined terminal illness turns out to be real (hey, I'll be right one day!), here is a list of items I want recorded that I SPECIFICALLY want Bison to have:

1) The metal wind-up chicken
2) The platypus finger puppet
3) The 2 cat statues and crystal ball on a metal stand which were splattered with red wax after a candle in a glass jar exploded all over them.
4) My hippy rug which bore the brunt of the white paint which I spilled all down me and my belongings whilst trying to get the lid off carefully.
5)  The terrifying bald head which is at my flat and which is currently wearing a pink wig and swimming goggles.
6)  I know you want it but you can't have Dave the skeleton, currently zipped into a suitcase and in the loft space of my flat which I am secretly hoping will fuck with any police investigators looking into my disappearance should I disappear. Dave has been reserved for my former colleague Amy's small child who has no clue he's getting it.  
7) A small statue of a duck which has just hatched from it's egg but is mysteriously wearing a Traffic Warden's uniform.
8) The metal picture of the Beatles with googly eyes stuck over their actual eyes.
9) The godawful plate you gave me depicting 2 kittens and a puppy playing with a tremendously out of proportion shoe
10) The lollypop you gave me of Freud's head.  It is still in the plastic wrapper so it looks like he's died from some sort of auto-erotic asphyxiation.

On a final note.  After being told he was not a good friend, Bison tried to redeem himself by helpfully suggesting that as I am in BUPA (private health care), if there really WAS something wrong with me then I wouldn't get butchered and end up with a gaping hole in my throat.  I'd end up with a nice metallic voice thing similar to Stephen Hawking.  When I'd said I didn't want to sound like Stephen Hawking he said that, like a modern day sat-nav, they'd be able to get someone like Ozzy Osborne to voice me.

.....cheers pal.