Last Words and Testament.

One of Britain’s more lauded actors, Freddie Jones, died a couple of days ago. He came from my home town and was 91. Among the predictable array of comments cast into the plaudit pot was one which said ‘He had a great zest for life.’

Well, I don’t think I’m being unduly cynical when I question why such a propensity should be considered a recommendation. I’m sure that a zest for life is a good thing to have since it no doubt makes you happier and bestows a good sense of wellbeing, but surely its value is limited to the individual. It’s like saying ‘He was a very generous man, always ready to help others, and he liked porridge.’

*  *  *

I sometimes wonder what people will say about me when I die. I wondered it about half an hour ago. I doubt there is very much to say, really. And if it comes to saying it in public, I can think of only one person among the very few who are likely to attend my funeral who would have the courage and confidence to do so.

Not that it matters. I’ve always said that I intend to be present in spirit at my funeral, but I’m not sure that I do now. Funerals are, after all, for the benefit of the bereaved not the deceased. But if anybody does want to say something in my absence, I think I would be happy with ‘He spent the first half of his life doing some pretty bad things, and the second trying to be better.’