On tasty, tasty funeral catering

So, driving in to work at the unearthly hour of a quarter-to-six in the morning. At least, one hopes, that the roads will be clear.

Not so. My heart sinks as my headlong foot-to-the-floor descent on Reading is slowed by a white van pulling out of a road junction. I am forced to brake and think of an amusing death for the perperator of such a crime against my good humour. It is a van belonging to a local catering company. And written on the back in bold Comic Sans, The Font Of Champions:

"We specialise in hogroasts, funerals"

Oh-ho! What if they do - oh-ho-! - a hogroast at a funeral? What - oh-ho! - if they get the stiff and the hog mixed up? What japes!

Then it pulled into the churchyard at Hartley Wintney, and I was a little bit sick in my mouth.