Ackroyd's Funeral

It's funny the things that pop into your head when you're messing about on the web. Perhaps it was subliminal. I'd been reading Alfie's post about scattering his father's ashes at sea and maybe it was this that made me think of Ackroyd's Funeral by Mike Harding.

I haven't heard it for years because it's tuck away in a box somewhere with the rest of our vinyl collection. And we don't have anything to play vinyl on.

Reading the poem doesn't really work -- you have to hear it performed to appreciate the humour -- but here's my favourite verse:

Me Gran looked down at the box sayin', 'What a lovely corpse.'
Tears fell on her drippin' an' toast,
When the body at rest shoved his hand up her vest, sayin'
N' then, 'ow's that fer a ghost?'

Like I said, you have to hear it performed.

But tracking down the words down was so almost a Googlewhack. "Grandad Ackroyds Funeral" gets just one result. One bloody word too many.