I'M worried about my funeral. It's got lost! Linda's has turned up, but not hubby's.

Overdue by a fortnight, I telephone to complain. A nice gentleman explains that funerals sometimes go astray in the post, and can I please be patient for a few more days.

'What if I die in the meantime?' I ask.

'Oh, there's no problem, sir,' he says cheerfully.

'Hmm!?' says I.

Talk of pre-paid funerals started two years ago, instigated by Linda, whose dad was the Friday-night man from the Co-op, helping many put by for a rainy day at the cemetery.

'We should do the same,' she urged.

Me? In my prime. Still 40 years off my telegram from the Queen/King/President Tony Blair or whoever.

Mind you, I'm happy to admit that death has lost its sting in recent years. And, just between you and me, when I press the curtain button at the crematorium these days there's an ever-so slight moment of envy.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love life, wife and even the daily strife. I dote on granddaughter Lois, and I've still lots to do.

But I now know that whatever I experience down here, the best is still yet to be. I'm still, as it were, in the travel agents preparing for the holiday of another lifetime.

Those who die more in love with God than themselves wake up in a heavenly resort that's just out of this world. This glorious news we've been celebrating since Jesus beat death at that first Easter.

For a Christian, a funeral can get lost, but never the happy ending.