Science, that’s who. Just finished Stiff by Mary Roach, a comprehensive though sometimes tiresomely jocular trawl through the world of post-mortem careers – crash test dummy, ballistics target, plastic surgery template, that kind of thing. Or I could just lie in the sun at the Body Farm
Like most atheists, I wonder what to have done with myself when I have nothing more to do. Not constantly, you understand, just now and then. I know from burying my mother that the best practical way of keeping religion out of it is to get the Methodists to officiate.
But I’m not sure I fancy any officiation. The advantage of going the leaving your body to science route is that you don’t know what happens next. I’ve always liked the idea of chance taking a formative hand in my affairs
Stiff goes into it all in appropriately gory detail, which I found didn’t put me off at all. Right now, science seems to rely heavily on more than ordinarily obstinate people seeking out the relevant medical facilities and bequeathing themselves. Take me, and do what you will. I think there’d be more customers if they ran a TV advertising campaign along the lines of the ones shown by the army, but this time demonstrating all aspects of the all action death - testing antipersonnel mines, going through car windscreens. By ‘eck, it’s a man’s life in the afterlife.