Clown funeral

The mourners assemble, some carrying wreaths, clad in muted colours and sombre tones. Voices are low, out of respect for the occaision. In the background, classical music plays. All await the arrival of the hearse, conveying the remains of the departed loved one.

All heads turn ... yes, here it comes. But .... why is it painted in garish colours ? Why does it have wheels of different sizes, one with a flat tyre, and one oval ? Why does it resemble a modified fire engine ? Why is it weaving across the road ? The answer to the last question is soon apparent; three clowns are fighting for control of the steering wheel. Unfortunately, the one in posession of the driving seat cannot see, partly because there is another clown standing on the front fender, blocking his view, shouting, and waving a huge wreath of fake flowers labelled HAPY BURTDAE, and partly because he has just had a bucket of custard tipped over him, obscuring his vision.

He resorts to the windscreen washer, but all that does is squirt soda- water in the face of the fender-rider and the third clown who is standing on the drivers-side footboard, reaching through the window and attempting to gain admission, while fighting off the fourth clown in the passenger seat who has both hands on and one leg through the steering wheel; his other two legs (yes, you have counted correctly) are sticking out of the passenger window, being held by a fifth clown, who is travelling alongside the vehicle on rollerskates and shouting for help.

It seems, however, that the numerous other clowns hanging on to the vehicle and forming a keystone-cops tail at the rear, are not interested in rendering any assistance, being occupied with water jets, custard pies, hooters, sirens, air horns, flashing lights, and juggling.

Eventually the vehicle lurches to a stop after demolishing a fruit cart, a sheet of prop glass, a rail of clothes and a huge pile of empty cardboard boxes.

Amid much noise and clamor, the clowns disembark. Immediately, fights break out, but some of them manage to accidentally eject the coffin onto the road. At least, it might be the coffin - it's shaped and painted like an enormous hot dog in a bun.

But at least it has eight brass handles. Unfortunately these are somewhat irregularly placed, five down one side and three on the other, at varying heights.

Eventually somed sort of order is restored and the pallbearers line up, four on each side. This results in further scuffles and a game of Musical Handles. The coffin is hoisted; but due to the great disparity of heights of the clowns - one of whom is a dwarf, grasping one of the highest handles - it is neither straight nor level, and the unfortunate dwarf's feet are a good half a metre off the ground.

Thus the cortege progresses into the building, knocking over vases, treading in flowebeds, yelling, throwing jelly and custard pies, accompanied by honking car horns, shouting, air horns, and a dwarf complaining loudly about discrimination.

The actual ceremony is left to the imagination of the reader.