So I’m mentioning to a friend that I’ve probably 8.8 yrs of life left in this life by Oz statistics… and mention that the body only feels 45, attitude is around mid 30’s and maturity still sits around 16. He rapidly averages and assesses that I’m only 42 yrs and now have a mere 27.8 yrs of life to mess up in my usual inadequate manner…

At about this point in time I realise I’m standing on a grassed area – which brought the thought of “Lawn Cemeteries’ to the fore.

There I am a ageing SOD who’s wandered onto the wrong piece of LAWN! And suddenly it’s sprouted up past my ankles and there’s a decomposing sensation. As I realise this sense of loss of composure, I notice that the bloke next to me is 6′ 8” and also “LAWNED to the nether regions.

‘Strike I light I says’

to whit he replies “It’s alright for you, a short-arse, I’ll be here longer decomposting…”

Which is why cremation is the way to go… those lawn cemeteries just decompose to standing room only…