A leaflet landed on our doormat the other day. Although innocuous in itself, it started a train of thought in our family that sped rapidly out of comedic control and ended in a head on collision with respectability - aka my wife. Opinion was divided to such an extent that the topic is now a taboo subject in our house - which is why I'm talking to everyone else about it instead.

No, what dropped through our letterbox wasn't a political campaign brochure telling us how '...the recent proliferation of potholes, cancelled bin collections, and un-gritted roads are the direct result of this (insert current party in power here) government's disinterest in the issues important to the common man.' I hear they did print such a pamphlet, but weren't able to deliver it because of the serious snow we've had over Christmas. It would probably have been pulled anyway, as I'm sure someone would have spotted its blatant sexism. After all, women can be common too.

And no, our family wasn't divided on whether to choose the thin and crispy meat feast or the Hawaiian deep pan pizza with extra cheese from the local takeaway's flyer. The meat feast always wins hands down for me as anything savoury with pineapple on it is deeply suspicious in my cookbook. In fact, I'm convinced Hawaiian pizzas are the outcome of some really clever viral marketing by that man from Del Monte.

Nor did we argue over whether to replace all our doors and windows. Although we have wondered in the past about the intelligence of a replacement door marketing campaign that pushes leaflets through the letterbox of a door patently far superior to any shown in the brochure. No doubt the local synagogue says the same thing about receiving menus for ham and pineapple pizzas.

So what was the leaflet about?

It was about planning for your funeral. This is what it said:

'When your time comes, simplify proceedings for your family and friends by expressing your wishes in advance. Select one of our pre-payment funeral plans and we'll help you customise it to your requirements!'

Okay, I admit I added the exclamation mark, but the rest is pretty accurate. The advertisement even offered a 5% discount on production of the leaflet - presumably they recouped the cost by shaving a bit off the coffins given to short people. Interestingly, nowhere in the information did it mention the awkward subject of dying. Funeral directors must be the only trades people not to mention their product. You can't imagine double glazing firms not referring to their windows, or butchers avoiding the mention of meat, or plumbers being reluctant to talk about your old boiler - not if they wanted her to make them a cup of tea while they eyed up her pipework, that is.

At the top of the leaflet was the title, 'Planning Ahead For Peace Of Mind.' In truth, I can appreciate that some people may worry about their departure placing an unfair burden on their relatives, and wish to avoid organizational and financial uncertainty by preparing in advance. If that's the case, then such plans make perfect sense for them, but they're not really for me. Right now, I'm at an age where I'm more likely to give a piece of my mind than worry about having peace of mind. And once I've left this Earth I'll let my kids worry about who to pay to put me back in it.

And then I got to thinking. Maybe a funeral plan wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. Being able to direct the terms and format of your final farewell has a certain twisted appeal to it. But what sort of funeral would I want after I was gone? I've been to many in my time, and all have been suitably dignified and respectful yet rarely a true reflection of the person in the box. So, did I want mine to be a celebration of misery and grief, or did I want to use the occasion as my last opportunity to make people smile?

They always say it's best to laugh at adversity, and there's certainly potential for some serious humour - not to mention oxymorons - when reflecting on someone's life after death. Unfortunately, as I was to find out later, not everyone in my family sees it that way, and the opportunity for humour to one person is interpreted as shocking and in bad taste by another.

I broached the subject at breakfast with my children. Luckily they were used to my silly ways and understood fully where I was coming from. In fact, it was my daughter who asked the question that began the process of turning our family at peace into a family at war.

'What music would you want played at your funeral?' she asked.

Well, that was it. The floodgates opened and we spent the next ten minutes coming up with wickedly inappropriate tunes you could play at a funeral.

My favourite by far was 'Going Underground' by The Jam - which would be doubly appropriate for me as it happens to be the first single I ever bought. Christian suggested playing the chase music from Benny Hill during the coffin's journey from the church to the graveside. Our suggestions weren't as bizarre as they sounded. A Macmillan nurse friend of ours said she once attended the funeral of a middle-aged cancer patient who had 'Baggy Trousers' played at his service. Apparently, he'd been a big fan, so all his mates acted as pall bearers and did the trademark Madness walk down the aisle in time to the music whilst wearing sunglasses - as per the wishes of the deceased. Our friend said it was funnier in reflection than at the time.

Bethany thought 'Wake me up before you go go!' by Wham would be the perfect song to end on - literally.

Gillian arrived at that point, so I explained about the leaflet and our game. Only she didn't see the funny side.

'I am not playing Wham, Jam or thank you Mam at anyone's funeral!' she said.

I waved the leaflet. 'But it would be my funeral. My plan. Besides, it would make people laugh.'

Gillian looked at me openmouthed. 'It would make people cringe with embarrassment.'

'Why should they be embarrassed? I'd be the one who chose it.'

'You don't get it, do you?' said Gillian. 'What if you filled out one of those plans and you were in a car crash tomorrow, and we had to play daft music to your mum and all your elderly relatives? How do you think they would feel?'

'But it would be my funeral...'

'It will be if you carry on like this,' interrupted Gillian. She snatched the leaflet from my hand and threw it in the kitchen bin. 'I for one won't be attending any service of yours if you plan to do silly things like this.' Obviously my wife assumed I would be the first to go. Maybe she knew something I didn't? I made a mental note to reduce the level of cover on my life assurance in case it turned out to be another of those oxymorons.

Christian tugged at my elbow. 'Daddy?'

'Yes, Son?'

'Does that mean I won't be allowed to read the speech you said you'd prepare?'

Gillian looked aghast. 'You mean you even intend to write your own eulogy?'

This wasn't going the way I'd planned. Or indeed was hoping to plan. 'It was supposed to put the fun back into funeral,' I said lamely. 'Something tongue-in-cheek to make people laugh.' My wife shook her head in disbelief. I turned to my son for support. 'You'd read it out, wouldn't you?' Christian nodded a little too enthusiastically.

Gillian grabbed her laptop bag and car keys and started to leave. She stopped by the kitchen door and said in a firm voice, 'Not only is it bad luck to be talking about all this, but you really don't see how egotistical you come across and how embarrassing it would be to everyone attending. I want nothing to do with it!' She turned and the front door slammed shut a few seconds later.

Bethany, Christian and I looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders. 'Maybe I've underestimated the sensitivity of the subject?' I said. Bethany, ever the diplomat, suggested we drop the idea. I agreed.

When Gillian returned home later that day, I apologised and told her our discussions at breakfast had simply been a bit of harmless banter. 'There's no way I'd want "Going Underground" played at my funeral,' I told her. Gillian looked relieved and said she was pleased that I'd finally come to my senses.

Of course, I didn't tell her I was thinking of more along the cremation lines and felt 'Burn, Baby Burn!' might be more suitable.

Or am I being disrespectful to my own memory?

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