THE INSIDE OUTSIDER

 “Are we set to go Simon?...... Whadya you mean call you Simmo?  What’s that, your wrestling name?  Simpering Simmo Simmonds from Sidmouth?  Oh, it’s your radio presenter name!  Just you remember Simon, I’m the presenter here, you’re the water carrier.  So I say again; are we set to go Simon? Whadya mean nearly?  Nearly don’t cut it, moron.  Get your head outa yer arse and get everything fuckin’ ready!

     “Okay now?......  Finally!  You sure you slipped that bent bastard the monkey?  Sure you didn’t just supplement the crap wages they pay you by pocketing the petty cash?......  Alright, no need to get your panties in a pickle.  ‘E told you exactly what to do did ‘e?......  And you’re friggin’ certain ‘e won’t be coming back?......  Goodo, never doubted you for a second.  Right then, let’s get a hurry on and then we can get the fuck outta here.  Recording?......  Five, four, three, two, one, and…

     “A very good evening listeners and welcome to ‘The Inside Outsider’, the show that brings you the inside insight on those everyday things we all know take place but we never really know for certain what actually goes on. Whether it be a night in a police cell for being drunk and disorderly, a day in the life of your local sewage plant, a morning with the Mrs, or indeed Mister, mops who clean up the blood and other bodily fluids at a crime scene, a shift at the abattoir which precures the meat on our plates (apologies to you doubtless admirable vegans and vegetarians out there), or, as on tonight’s show, what really happens when your loved ones are cremated (apologies to all you doubtless admirable recent widows and orphans out there).  I am your outsider on the inside and this is the ‘Inside Outsider’ with me Todd ‘Todd-tastic’ Tompkins….                                                                                                                                                                                     

     “Hold it there, Simon.  We’ll start again once I’m inside the fucking box.  Come on, quicker for god’s sake!  Help me get into the suit; you sure that idiot petrol head was the full ticket when ‘e said it would protect me from the heat?...... It’s the same as what Lewis Hamilton wears?......  I bet it fuckin’ well ain’t but I’ll have to take his soddin’ word for it.

    “So, fire retardant underwear: check.  I’m more worried about the stains than the flames.  You’re sure the budget wouldn’t stretch to new?......  Shit and arse! Where the fuck was I?

    " Fire retardant suit: check.  Boots, gloves, balaclava: all check.  All I need is the helmet and you can call me 'The Stig'……  What was that Simon?  More like ‘Stig of the Dump’?  You get a good night’s sleep sweating on just what that remark is gonna cost you tomorrow.  What was I saying?... Oh yeh, helmet.  Shouldn’t have mentioned that word, makes me even more wary of those stains.  All set?......  Five, four, three, two, one, and…

     “So then listeners, this is the ‘Inside Outsider’, bringing you the inside insight on cremation.  Please be warned, as usual with my reports, some of this show's content may be upsetting to some listeners.  Moving swiftly on, believe it or not, I am literally lying inside an actual coffin atop the plinth in the funeral chapel…

     “Hey Simon, would you call this thing a plinth or a dais?  Dias sounds kinda regal; let’s go with that.  Five, four, three, two, one, and……

     “What do you mean it’s called a catafalque?  The plebs who listen to this show ain’t gonna understand that kinda language!  Butt out and let me do my thing.  Five, four, three, two, one, and…

     "Moving swiftly on, believe it or not, I am literally lying inside an actual coffin atop the dais in the crematorium chapel (the dais is actually called the catafalque but my gopher Simon thought that would be too highbrow for you, my doubtless admirable listeners) and very soon the music will begin to play, the curtains will slowly close, the hatch in the chapel wall will open and my coffin will begin to pass sedately to the ‘other side’, so to speak.

     “For those of you who are expecting me to go straight from the chapel into the flames, like Sean Connery in ‘Diamonds are Forever’ or Bill Murray in ‘Scrooged’, my coffin will in fact go through the hatch and onto a trolley in the cremation room.  It will then be moved onto the ‘charging bier’, a far fancier trolley, before being wheeled to the mouth of the furnace, or should I say, ‘the cremator’.

     “As we wait for my assistant on the outside to press the magic button, I must say lying here is actually quite comfortable.  To all intents and purposes it is no different to the coffin Great Aunt Maud was dispatched in (apologies to the doubtless admirable Great Aunt Maud if she’s still alive, apologies to her doubtless admirable family if she has only recently passed over.)  The significant difference is the addition of two toughened, heat resistant glass panels, one in the lid above my head, the other at the southern end of my mahogany box.  I am assured these panels will provide me with a view of the inside of the cremation chamber whilst protecting me from the flames…

     “Hey Simon, this glass is safe, right?  If I singe even one hair on my pretty little head I’ll singe your backside within an inch of its life.  Five, four, three, two, one, and…

     “I can see through the panel at my feet that the curtains are now slowly closing, closing, closed.  I sense movement. Here we go, through the hatch, leaving the chapel behind and entering the cremation room, the place where the magic happens.

     “If this were indeed my funeral, my adoring family, my awe-struck friends and you, my doubtless admirable but grief-stricken fans, filling the chapel to the rafters, would be spared the additional pain and misery of seeing my sumptuous, no expense spared coffin, sealed by the undertakers and, contrary to the conspiracy theorists, not to be opened by the crematorium staff, slide into the cremator itself.  That said, a viewing window is available for those who wish to see…

     “If this were your funeral, Simon, I’d avail myself of that facility just for the pleasure it would give me to see you fry and also to be certain you weren’t gonna come back as a zombie.  But then again you’re a zombie already, ain’t you Simon?......  What’s that, you could still come back as a ghost and haunt me? Ooooh, I think I just stained my already stained underwear.  Five, four, three, two, one, and…

     “My assistant is now moving the trolley over to the charging bier, rolling my coffin from one to the other, minimum effort, maximum health and safety, wheeling the charging bier over to the cremator…

     “Okay dipstick, don’t put me in to cook just yet; I wanna educate the ignorant masses on what would happen now if I really were a corpse.  Feed me the details so I don’t make a twat of myself.  Five, four, three, two, one, and…

     “Before we proceed I will just impart the knowledge I have painstakingly garnered on the cremation process. 

     “The cremator consists of two chambers: the main chamber which will be at 800 degrees centigrade as I enter into it, and the secondary chamber where any harmful emissions will be dealt with (even in death the ‘global warming police’ will be on your case).  The cremation itself takes between ninety minutes and two hours, longer for you doubtless admirable fuller figured folks out there, after which time the resulting ashes, being the burnt remains of both the deceased and the coffin, are raked out of the chamber and into the cooling coffer…

     “No I won’t lose the audience with so much info, Simon; they look to me for knowledge and knowledge I shall bestow upon them.  Believe me, they will lap it up.  Five, four, three, two, one…

     “After thirty minutes the ashes are screened for any metal remains such as replacement hips, metal implants and the occasional metal coffin handle.  Coffin handles, as opposed to fork handles (please excuse my little joke), are generally plastic, thereby rubbishing the myth of funeral staff removing them and selling them on.  For all you doubtless admirable environmentalists out there, the extracted metal is sent over to our Dutch neighbours for recycling, resulting in lovely Euro's being paid back to the crematorium, this revenue being, in the case of this crematorium in particular, donated to charity.

     "Once free of metal, the ashes are then ‘cremulated’, which is to say thet are crushed by heavy metal spheres in a rotating drum, thereby reducing them to a fine powder.  Sad to say, small traces from the previous incumbent may be left behind in both cremator and cremulator and as such they may well make their way into the current dearly beloved’s remains.  Sorry to break it to you folks, but it’s an inescapable truth, the kind of truth the ‘Inside Outsider’ was born to reveal. The time has come, I’m going inside the cremator….

     “I don’t care if it upsets people, Simon, a fact is a fact.  They get warned at the beginning so it's their lookout.  If it will appease your lily livered leanings I will warn them again about the upcoming ‘upset’ of the special trays for cremating babies and the store room with the boxes of ashes to be collected, sometimes, can you believe it, in bulk, by various undertakers, as well as the ‘A.O.L.’ remains, insider speak for scattering ‘At Our Leisure’.  And, on the subject of ash scattering, don’t even get me started on the ‘fry ash’ that they scrape from the ovens once a week; who knows how many different people end up in that concoction!

     “Right then, with your permission, please do press the go button.  That will be the green one by the way, and let’s get this over with.  Remember, when I say stop I mean stop, IMMEDIATELY!  And believe me, dimwit; get this wrong and I won’t be the only one getting fired, if you get my drift.  Five, four, three, two, one…

     “Here we go then.  I can see through the glass panel at my feet that the door to the cremator is open and I can see two fierce jets of blue flame shooting down from the ceiling, like two inverted storm proof cigarette lighters.  This is it, the coffin is moving.  Looking above I can see my view of the ceiling of the cremation room slipping away to be replaced by a view of the brick lined cremator.  I can already feel the heat from outside the coffin, the cushioned lining is beginning to smoke and oh shit! I don’t know if I can do this!  Hey Simon get me the fuck outta here.  Now Simon, I mean Simmo, please get me out, oh God I’m burning up Simmo.  Gaarghh! Jesus, help me someone, it fucking hurts. I’m burning, mummy! I’m burning!  Nnnnnnnng…….”

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     “Okay, here we go. Five, four, three, two, one, and…

     “A very good evening listeners and thank you so much for taking time out from your doubtless busy schedules to tune in to ‘The Inside Outsider’, the show that gives the inside insight on those everyday things we all know take place but we never really know for certain what actually goes on. Whether it be a night in a police cell for being drunk and disorderly, a day in the life of your local sewage plant, a morning with the Mrs, or indeed Mister, mops who clean up the blood and other bodily fluids at a crime scene,a shift at the abattoir which prepares the meat on our plates or, as we will cover next week, the tofu in our bowls.  Or, as on tonight’s show, what really happens when your loved ones are reported missing, a subject all the more poignant since the recent disappearance of our respected friend and colleague Todd ‘Todd-tastic’ Tompkins. I am your outsider on the inside and this is the ‘Inside Outsider’, with me, Simmo Simmonds…”

copyright DM Pamment 2018