When I go, there will be no church and no formal ceremony and no crematorium and no speeches. A wicker or cardboard or plywood box will do to hold me. Clayton Wood (a natural burial ground in Sussex) will see me deposited near a tree with possibly a wooden tablet saying "Here lies an old git", which will not be renewed when it rots. And those of my mates who are left can play some music around the spot - or down the pub - or both, as they see fit.

And I will leave enough cash for a few pints of Harveys.