Rant: Tributes to the dead

Church eulogies After 14 years as a rector in City of London churches, I’ve managed to decode the annoyingly euphemistic tributes paid at the memorial services afforded to top bankers, brokers and liverymen.

He lived life to the full. Drunk. Given the chance, he’d turn up sozzled to his own funeral.

He did not suffer fools gladly. Arrogant and full of himself.

He enjoyed female company. Shag happy.

He never married. A raving queen.

She was possessed of the theatrical temperament. A relentless attention-seeker who would burst into tears if she didn’t get what she wanted immediately.

Not a natural academic. Thick as 95 lavatory seats.

Believed in taking risks. Tried to get away with any scam going.

Had that rare quality of gentleness. A real wimp.

Kept himself to himself. A curmudgeon.

His career was not without the occasional setback. He was in and out of jail.

Eccentric. Barmy.

A prodigious memory. Never forgot a slight, however trivial.

SMALL DELIGHTS

Fitting the little sprocket at the top of a tube of gluee into the hollow in thee cap and using it to break reak the seal. ROSEMARY JEFFS FFS Bakewell

Her beauty was not of the conventional sort. Looked like the back of a tram smash.

She was tenacious and

persistent. She nagged three husbands to death.

Not an instinctive orator.

Incoherent.

Of unassuming modesty. A nonentity.

No devotee of the Protestant work ethic. Bone idle.

Her speech was peppered with delightful hyperbole. A born liar.

Quite unforgettable. Who did you say we’re talking about?