Funerals involve admin, and things don’t ever sort themselves out. The task of sorting out the details of Brian’s funeral has fallen to me because I am here. Incidentally, when did we stop using the term “Undertaker?”

I was only quite vaguely involved with my parents’ funerals: my dad’s was arranged by a Hindu funeral director in North London and, though I was the point of contact, they more or less did the whole thing without me. I remember voicing quite strongly to a roomful of close relatives that I did not want my dad’s funeral turned into a circus, a didactic opportunity for instruction in Hinduism, as my Indian wedding had been and I’m grateful to my late Uncle Balu, Commander Bapat, for taking charge and explaining the Sanskrit part of the proceedings with brevity and sensitivity. I remember my rather trite eulogy and people walking out of the chapel during the Mozart Lachrymosa when I had hoped that they’d stay and listen but such is my life. I remember pressing the button at the Crematorium as a poignant and moving moment. Fifteen years later I feel such regret that my mourning for my dad was marred by thoughts only of our flaming arguments. He was a gentle and sensitive bloke who had never achieved success in line with his character and intellect.

My mum’s funeral two years ago, on the other hand, was minimal but completely in keeping with the traditions of her motherland. She had no music, no order of service, almost no mourners. There was no button to push in this rustic crematorium. Instead, I helped to give her body a shove into the portable furnace and watched as the flames devoured her. The simplicity of the ceremony was poignant and I’d felt very strongly that it was a fitting final return to peace for her.

And so I found myself in the funeral director’s office in Orpington, ticking boxes, choosing options, making executive decisions about flowers and Orders of Service, in keeping, of course, with the wishes of the Deceased, who had a prepaid funeral plan and had left instructions for music, at least. Admittedly, I have a degree of emotional detachment from the family, but the funeral director was businesslike yet sympathetic. My tasks were clearly specified and I got on with them. I derive a degree of satisfaction from this. Let us hope that all goes smoothly.