A grave prospect

Just finished scanning the Sits Vac in the local rag. Out of the hundreds of jobs on offer, there is only one which I could possibly apply for. Coffin-bearer (male or female) required for local cemetery and crematorium. Must have a serious and responsible countenance (check - sometimes, anyway), be flexible (check), in a good state of physical fitness (check), have your own vehicle (check). They even provide you with a uniform. So what's stopping me? It could be a nice little earner - apparently it's ten to fifteen burials per average month. But you have to be prepared to spring into action at short notice - people rarely plan an actual time and date for their funeral, weirdly enough - and (it's a big and) you must not be prone to dropping things. Which rules me out. Can you imagine? No, let's not.

Back to the drawing board, then. Or should I say scrubbing board, as it turns out our new washing machine is not arriving until next Friday. I take back all yesterday's waxing lyrical over times gone by. Either I'll be spending an awful lot of time leaning over the bathtub, or we'll have to find a launderette. The latter is quite tempting, as launderettes are famously sociable places, or so I've heard. I could treat it as a sort of social experiment - this usually turns even the most mundane of events into a fun and interesting encounter.