I am DeadCentre.

I really wasn't sure what to write here. I'd been asked by this blogs host to make a contribution but I'd had no Xanadu moment; my muse had foraken me. I'd considered at first an introduction of sorts, a precis of my life in the funeral industry since the age of fourteen and subsequent descent into the production line world of corporate funeral care. It's not interesting though, not to me anyway.

Tonight I had my Xanadu moment. Olivia Newton-John rollerskated down the stairs and into the toilets of the Old Cheshire Cheese pub on Fleet Street in London. In the form a a bit of graffiti penned onto the wall beside the cistern above the urinal she'd written; 'Lifes great irony; though the measure of our life goes forward, our understanding of it works in reverse', or words to that effect. I remembered what I wanted to do on this blog. I wanted to cause a fuss, be difficult and disagree with A. Mortician, and that's exactly what I intend to do. It's much more interesting because after so many years caring, I've realised that the caring makes little difference, provided you are seen to care.

My days of idealism are over. What we as funeral directors provide is merely a basic service that any halfwit with a basic education and with provision of a simple formula could facilitate. This is as much the case now as has been since neanderthal man decided to bury his dead rather than abandon them to the elements. They say that prostitution is the worlds oldest profession. The funeral trade however must run a close second; and in that time, our industry has seen It's share of the unscrupulous, the perverse and the socially incompetent.

We've all seen the industry's faults, all of us can share horror stories. Despite my lingering misanthrophy and mistrust however, I can still see a place for those of us who do actually care . We are priveleged to be of such an important service. Not to the dead, but to those that the dead leave behind.

I'll finish with an anecdote. Many years ago, we employed my ex-girlfriend in our family run funeral business. Not long after she started we were entrusted with the care and commital of an old boy who apparently looked very much like the ex-girlfriends sick grandfather. She of course reacted badly and doubted her fortitude. I explained to her what we do in these terms; We provide a service that will remain in the memory of those that survive that nobody else can parallel. You will eventually forget a nice fat tax return, you will relegate the details of a house or car purchase to distant memory; but as long as you live, you will remember the funeral service of somebody you loved.

That's what we do. We serve the living and not the dead and when we care, we get enormous job satisfaction, really.

Deadcentre

Observations on life and death in London later.