NEXT!

Have you ever noticed that when someone dies they instantly become the finest person who ever lived? Every evening, victims of tragedies are suddenly remembered as everyone’s friend, always a happy soul, always bent over helping people, their presence enriched everyone’s existence. They did no wrong and what’ll we ever do without them? It doesn’t matter what brought their end, even a drastic accident where they were driving like a moron or indulging in a criminal activity. No matter what sort of pathetic arsehole they were or even if they were a blight on the whole of humanity now that they are dead, they were a diamond. What brought them to this tragedy? A poor victim of society indeed!

Then there are the prominent politicians. Brian Mulroney was one. We planted him last Saturday. I didn’t know him personally but I certainly recalled how everyone loved to hate him. I recall him being regarded as ruthless, insensitive and arrogant. I recall that as a politician, many in Western Canada regarded him as typically Eastern and without empathy for anything out of sight of the skyline of Toronto. It was, apparently, a grand funeral, a state ceremony with a singing granddaughter and a recording of the man’s own voice canting out ‘We’ll Meet Again’ as his carcass was hoyed out to his grave. (Spike Milligan and Vera Lynn must have been gigglling in the corner) What that last song had to do with sending off a Canadian politician bemuses and offends me. Well, I guess it was his last gig. We could install a looped recording of his song at the gravesight.

Avowed an Irish kid from Baie Comeau (Iv’e lived and worked there, it was not an Irish town although perhaps somewhat Catholic) he was processed in a grand style in the biggest Catholic Church in Montreal. Now he’s under a green lawn with a soccer team’s worth of other priviledged stiffs. There are, take note, several other tothering old politicians shuffling towad the head of the line. Keep that song book handy.

I won’t be buried. There’s just not enough money for that environmentally unfriendly effort, my personal dogma doesn’t believe in it and who would listen to a recording of my gastric eruptions? I certainly could never carry a tune in a gut bucket. So yes, next please! Death may be what brings some recognition for my writing efforts and my photography but really, Fred who? Just another old fart from the Last Nations.

It happens to the best of us.

On Spike Milligan’s headstone: “I told you I was sick.”

Author: Fred Bailey

Fred is a slightly-past middle age sailor / writer / photographer with plenty of eclectic hands-on skills and experiences. Some would describe him as the old hippy who doesn't know the war is over. He is certainly reluctant to grow up and readily admits to being the eternal dreamer. He has written several books including two novels, 'The Keeper' and 'Storm Ecstasy,' as well as 'The Water Rushing By', 'Sins Of The Fathers', 'The Magic Stick', as well as an extensive inventory of poetry, essays, short stories, anecdotes and photographs. His first passion is the ocean, sailboats, voyaging and all those people who are similarly drawn to the sea. He lives aboard 'Seafire' the boat he is refitting to go voyaging, exploring new horizons both inner and outer. This blog is about that voyage and the preparations for it. In spite of the odds against it, the plan is to sail away this fall and lay a course southward. If you follow this blog your interest may provide some of the energy that helps fuel the journey. Namaste Contact him at svpaxboat@gmail.com View all posts by Fred Bailey