My Nan's funeral was hilarious.
The priest was Welsh, and my Nan hates welsh people [something to do with a long ago camping trip and an obnoxious welsh shepherd, apparently].
He kept calling her by my Mum's name, and then went off on a huge rant about sinners, Jesus and the Gaza strip.
We had requested a simple reading, only one hymn [all things bright and beautiful], and minimal religious bullshit, but we got several other hymns and plenty of bible bashing.
My Nan would have had a coughing fit.
I was rather rude to the poor old bloke afterwards [apparently, he was asleep when the funeral director found him, and they had to wake him to do the service]. I refused to shake his hand, and told him quite bluntly to get the names right next time.
I then demolished a bottle of wine and hid in the conservatory for most of the buffet-come-mourning afterwards.
To be honest, I'm glad that it was funny. Otherwise I would have completely broken down. I thought my little brother was crying, but he was just laughing and trying to smother it. It was better, really. She would have liked it, I think.
I got home last night, and did something quite strange. I got drunk with my housemates, and actually, they aren't so bad. I'm just perpetually grumpy at the moment.