Mark Darby is preparing to die.

D, K (1976-05-13)
D, MRK (1984-02-27)
D-Allard, Abigail (1990-11-28)
D., Nigel (1987-08-01)
Da Silva, Joseph (1977-12-28)
Dalby, Elo´se (1986-06-25)
Daley, Thomas (1980-11-09)
Damage, Rave (1970-07-07)
Damian, Michael (1974-01-10)
Darby, Mark (1962-03-26)
Darby, Nick (1961-03-01)
DAS, RAJIB KUMAR (1983-11-07)
Davidson, Lynton (1973-06-06)
Davies, Clive (1966-04-15)
Davies, Jayne (1974-03-20)
Davies, Jessica (1986-08-10)
Davies, John (1962-06-06)
Davies, Lou (1979-09-19)
Davis, Rory (1991-02-08)
Davy, Libby (1968-12-20)
Dawson, Rik (1988-09-11)
Day, Han (1991-04-03)
De Jose, Colin (1970-09-02)
De Silva, Manoli (1990-12-04)
Deacon, Karina (0000-00-00)
Deane, Brogan (1992-02-09)
Deane, Peter (1980-01-12)
Decae, Seymour (1976-07-09)
Degngig, Deretinchie (0000-00-00)
Dekker, Desmond (1956-03-04)
Del Viento, Fierro (1988-03-28)
Del-rio, Emma (1986-05-06)
Deletethisentry, Please (9999-10-01)
Delgado, Eric (1977-03-04)
Delince, Jerry (1970-09-24)
Dempster, Martin (1978-07-25)
Denning, Guy (1965-10-06)
Dent, Thomas (1978-08-03)
Derempoukas, Apostolos (1958-07-10)
Derrick, Greg (1977-11-03)
Desai, Rashmi (1972-04-02)
Devito, John (1992-03-26)
Devlin, Gaz (1985-03-16)
Deyarmond, Coleen (1956-03-14)
Dharmachari, Ashvajit (1941-01-12)
Dines, Malcolm (1974-08-06)
Disastronaut, Jeffrey (1968-06-22)
Dixon, Martin (1959-01-08)
Djordjevic, Sanja (1989-04-20)
Dobson, Joanna (1990-06-17)
Doe, Jane (1974-12-12)
Doeksen, Ray (1966-11-07)
Donato, Raymondo (1978-06-23)
Donnelly, Iain (1965-09-01)
Donnelly, Robert Arthur (1973-04-01)
Dorey, Suzi (1978-09-20)
Dosdale, Holly (1987-07-26)
Doss, Ashley (1983-05-13)
Dovis, Jim (1983-05-04)
Dsilva, Mike (1989-09-09)
Du Four, Donna (1982-03-08)
Dumas, Warwick (1979-11-29)
Duncan, Paul (1975-11-03)
Dunne, Anna (1990-09-12)
Dunning, JJ (1982-08-03)
Dura, Junie (1993-09-29)
Durdin, Edward (1990-01-30)
Dyer, James (1995-10-24)

Freeze dried and heatsealed into a nice aluminium foil package like astronaut's food. I'm currently swaying towards being split into equal portions & sealed into a bag for each funeral guest to take home with them, kid's party style. Individually numbered and signed (with thanks, of course) by myself. Best not to say which bit of me is in which bag, I guess.

The nice heatsealed foil baggy is just fine. With a bold red text on white adhesive label stating my name, dates and epitaph...

This is all a matter of personal belief isn't it? Not mine either, it's more for those I've left behind. I've no particular preferences, but I acknowledge that it's important for some. Now that I'm dead, I may well know the truth etc, but it'll be too late to change what I've written here. Drat. I reckon there should be a member of the clergy for each denomination present at the do. They could act like translators at the UN, everyone could listen to their own version of the event through headphones. They would then have the opportunity to discuss the finer points of each other's rituals whilst drunk at the Wake afterwards.

If you're following me on Twitter, expect to get an invitation, but remember, I'm dead so I make no guarantees. Everybody else better hope that there's some kind of press announcement I suppose. Not much chance of that really though. Tough.

Since starting this I've been drawn to that Third Ear Band album from about 1970 that consists of only four tracks, one for each element - Air, Earth, Fire & Water. I've no idea why this bobbed to the murky surface of my somewhat battered consciousness. I've not heard or even seen a copy since the mid-Eighties. Consequently there's the possibility that my memory of it has little in common what it actually sounds like. On top of that there's the obvious hippy stigma that I don't relish at all and I'm a bit concerned that it may sound a little pompous. However, if my own half-remembered, hippy-free version was played live at the Venue by (I suppose the ideal would be 23) musicians it could be quite effective. I'd imagine this means I'm going to have to score it myself which could take a while, I'm not exactly overburdened with musical talent. If I haven't got around to that before I pop off, they can just play the original, but the music should be read from sheets that have been faxed to a poor quality machine and then photocopied at low contrast, maximising the chances of getting it slightly wrong. Anyway, for the time being I'll go with my gut reaction, I tend to think these things happen for a reason. I do like the idea of the guests queuing up to receive their little packets of freeze-dried, labelled and numbered Me to the mantra-like drone of this music (Reading back, this part is beginning to resemble Communion and I'm not too keen on that. Must give more thought to the organisational side. Do you have ushers at funerals? ). I think I'd like people to take this bit a little seriously - I am dead, after all. Everyone can have their fun at the Wake. I'll get around to that later...

You will be permitted to read throughout the service. However, News International publications and the works of Jeffery Archer are discouraged for your own good.

There is a time and a place for everything... this is it.

I'd like a joint effort by David Irving and Perez Hilton please.

I once saw this terrible film. It was set in a post-apocalyptic sub-Mad Max world which actually resembled a scruffy beach somewhere in Dorset (not Studland or Sandbanks, somewhere much more downmarket) with the occasional Lidl car park chucked in to break up the monotony even though the movie was American. It may have been called *Rollerblade* but it's not the one listed on the IMDb. The only redeeming feature of this cinematic catastrophe was that it featured a sect of topless, rollerskating ninja nuns armed with some farfetched version of a butterfly knife. If one of them was wounded they would strip off what little clothing they had, climb into this wooden slime-filled tub and massage themselves back to health with the gloop. But I digress. The point is that I seem to remember they would sing whilst doing this and I'm fairly sure a choral group with members drawn solely from this fictitious convent of future nuns would make me feel much better about being dead. Maybe I should start auditioning them now. If by any chance you, dear browser, are a ninja nun with access to rollerskates or rollerblades or if you know the film I'm on about, drop me a line... By the way, this isn't a sexual thing - I don't mind if they keep their tops on, they don't need to be in the tub'o'gloop - it's the Singing Roller Nun concept that's important, maaan. I'm still working on what they should sing. Oh, and if anyone feels the urge to sort out the equivalent in monks, that's fine by me. Just don't let them drown out my nuns, OK?