Burial

We were walking around an exhibition at the Islington Design Centre. There were three floors full of covetable things, ranging from furniture to candle holders. For an ex-shopaholic like me, it was a testing time. My interior designer daughter, Lizzie, was looking for flooring. Her company is called Cactus Designs, which goes against the current fashion for feng shui. Feng shui practitioners abhor cacti and ban them from their non-prickly interiors. I'm proud of the girl for swimming against the tide.

‘My God,’ I said to her as we approached one stand, ‘that green coffee table looks like a coffin.’ This observation may have come out of the side of my mouth, but it was loud enough to have been overheard. The casually stylish salesman came up to me.

‘It is, in fact, a casket,’ he said. ‘It's called an Earthsleeper.’ My daughter and I laughed rather nervously as he extolled the benefits of this biodegradable product. I can do no better than to quote from the brochure. ‘The Earthsleeper newspapier-mâché coffin has been created for those seeking a simple, elegant, affordable and environmentally friendly form of encapsulation for burial. This easy-to-assemble flat-pack casket comes complete with natural muslin body covers.’

This was no laid-back hippie-run organization. Their corporate clients include the Co-operative Funeral Service and Office World.

The endorsement of the Co-op did it for me. They have always despatched our family efficiently and respectfully, and if the Co-op thought a paper coffin in red, blue, green or charcoal was a suitable container for a loved one's body, then it was all right for me. I asked my daughter if we should order one, but she persuaded me against it, saying there were choices of size and colour that were best made at home.

There comes a time in every parent's life when a changeover occurs. One moment you're telling your child to wear a vest, the very next, it seems, they are advising caution over your choice of coffin.

Another product on the stand was a Petpeace – a smaller version of the Earthsleeper for pets. I'm thinking of getting one for Bill, our dog. This is ludicrously morbid. The dog is in vigorous health, does not dash across main roads and is only two years old, but even so, it's as well to be prepared and I'd sooner that Bill was interred in our garden in a Petpeace, than wrapped up in an old blanket and bunged into a hole.

The last funeral I went to was that of my ex-sister-in-law, Wendy. She was a remarkable woman who was born with Down's syndrome. She lived a life of admirable independence, travelled widely, did a parachute jump and had a part-time job as a shelf stacker (the Co-op, again).

Wendy's funeral was conducted by a clergywoman, Jayne, in a beautiful old church, St Andrews. The service was lovely. There was none of that censorious ‘born in sin, died in sin' orthodoxy, which is the last thing one wants to hear when one is grieving for a loved one.

After some traditional hymns in the church, we went to the crematorium. Our two nine-year-old granddaughters had been prepared by Jayne for what would happen there. They conducted themselves with great dignity, as their great-aunt's coffin disappeared behind the curtains to the sound of Elvis singing ‘You Were Always on My Mind’.

After the ceremony there was much talk among the mourners about the type of service we would like for ourselves. Most people seemed to want a mixture of traditional and popular music. Somebody said to me, somewhat naively, ‘The right words are so important on these occasions, aren't they?’ And of course they are. In a church or similarly atmospheric place, each word rings out and is listened to with full attention. The wrong word can lead to disappointment and sometimes disaster.

A few years ago I went to a funeral where the vicar called the dead person by the wrong name throughout. Nobody in the church had the temerity to correct the fool. Nervous giggles swept around the pews and even the widow shook her head and smiled; though she had plenty to say at the funeral tea afterwards.

The words on a gravestone are particularly important. I've already chosen mine: ‘Here lies Susan Townsend – half woman, half desk.’