Or maybe you won't.
I may comment more on this when I cease to enjoy being in Scotland. Ta-ta.
I have my coffin in my college office. It was made for me by my son Luke when he was 16 as part of his GCSE design and technology coursework, a project he researched thoroughly by taking work experience with an undertaker. He took measurements most carefully, and even allowed for me to grow fatter, but I have shared his concern, both then and many times since, that the bottom might not bear my weight.
One could, of course, speculate as to the psychological reasons behind a son making his father's coffin. Yet I know that he knew that I wanted one and that I have always valued handmade, thoughtful presents. My father used to say that birthdays are times when people you don't like give you things you don't need, and this has always seemed apt to me when I see how most celebrations have become dominated by the exchange of useless things. Even funerals tend towards this practice, with people keeping tallies of the flowers sent or the donations made.
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