I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.
In a daft world, where we swing from anything goes to complete censoriousness, where people are increasingly fearful of speaking out, and where taboos are everywhere being reasserted, we all need to be reminded of our mortality.
Death focuses the mind. It makes you remember what’s truly important. A day spent without at least a few moments contemplating one’s own mortality is a day in which the ego is left free to roam in self-aggrandisement.
We need to laugh at Death; if we can’t raise a smile in the face of the Grim Reaper, then he will have achieved his ultimate victory.
So The Reaper is our laughter, and our tears, at Death, in all its forms.
Not all deaths have a high laugh quotient. What can be said, for example, of the case in March 2015, when a father killed his five-year old son by lacing his pizza with rat poison, to get revenge on his wife for seeing another man.
We don’t believe that anything comes after Death – indeed, the idea that something does follow Death is rather alarming.
Our spelling is British English. We owe favours to no-one. We neither seek nor shun controversy.
The writing will be crisp, clear, sharp, lucid. The cartoons will be second to none.
We find Death interesting, amusing, quirky, sombre, terrifying…ubiquitous. It’s headed our way.
Face it courageously and with dignity – and, most important, humour. Take a step back: the futility of human endeavour is pretty funny, after all.
Gary Mead, Jeremy Banx, Rory Pickering, Theodora Robinson – undertakers