54) Probate - What the absolute Devil is that all about?

 So, Dad has been gone about 10 weeks now. I know things have to be done - his estate, probate, inheritance tax and sorting everything.  Apparently you have 6 months to do the tax, this includes paying any inheritance tax, and also he has to pay his tax for the financial year up to when he died. 

As he was ahem, not one of life's organised people, he never got his tax return in early. He always left it until the end of January, when of course everyone is rushing to get things done and the accountants are all flat out. He kept a box by the stereo in the living room into which he placed anything which may be connected to the current financial year. Then he would take said box to his accountant to get things done.

Probably more than 50% of the time he'd miss the deadline and so he would just pay HMRC an estimated amount. This would suffice until the return was done and ensured he didn't get a late filing fee.

He missed the one for the last tax year as he was in hospital. And then a tax return needs to be done for his final year, of which he only lived 3 months of the tax-year.

I am not good with figures. I had to do a tax return for a few years when I briefly had a buy to let property. It stressed me out so much. It wasn't easy. There were questions I didn't understand. I didn't know which were relevant to me. I didn't know where to find the figures they were asking for. I spent DAYS sitting on my floor, surrounded by paperwork and my phone and eventually with a lot of patience, phone-calls to HMRC, much hair-pulling and coffee, it got done. It was SO stressful. I eventually sold the flat and the relief was imense.

This probate and estate process, however, is FAR more stressful and we've only just begun. 

Dad himself was the World's greatest procrastinator. After mum died, it took him a whole year to have her remains interred. Poor mum sat on a shelf in a box, while he did other things which he deemed more important - like his tax return and the garden.(It was always his tax return and the garden.) He often said we had no idea how busy he was - a ten years retired man - too busy to lay his wife to rest even. He was always too busy to put others first.

When I was born, he went home, he said, to mow the lawn as a storm was forecast. He missed my birth. I was born at 1.15am. Mum did it alone, she told us this tale many times.

Then there was the issue of Mum's probate. As they were married, her stuff went to him automatically. There were a few companies who were asking for her probate - but instead of getting down to it, he ignored it, and ignored it. He ignored the letters, he ignored everything. He put all her stuff in a box and pretended it didn't exist. Actually he put all her stuff in a number of different boxes, all over the house and gradually I'm managing to collect them all together and work out what I need to keep and what's important and what to do about it. I will have to do her stuff in order to do his probate.

I'd asked him almost weekly if he'd sorted her probate yet and whether he needed any help from me. He either snapped at me that he was getting round to it but, he kept saying, I just didn't understand how much work he had do (a retired man with adult children). He always spent more time in the garden than in the house. The house desperately needed sorting even then but he pretended there wasn't a problem. Letters for mum piled up and he opened them, read them and put them on a pile to be sorted later. Estate chasing companies sent us regular letters asking if we knew there were still accounts in Mum's name. They all went in a pile - different piles mind you - and now we're finding them all over the place in different rooms.

On the ten year anniversary of mum passing, I made an appointment with the probate office and told dad whether or not he had the paperwork ready, I was taking him there anyway in person. We were in there about twenty minutes and he came out saying 'Well that wasn't as complicated as I thought.' This was because they were married and mum died without a will. As she had under the limit of savings in her name, everything just passed to Dad. No solicitor, no paperwork. That took ten years. Dad was the master of procrastination.

We got the probate form a week later in October 2004 and I thought that was all complete. I left it for dad to send the probate form to whoever needed it assuming he would.

How wrong I was. Thirty two years after she passed, there are still letters being delivered, addressed to her in person, not executors for the late but addressed directly to her.

It's clear I'll have to deal with those too.

Since dad passed away, I've informed various companies about it and as a result I've had 37 letters asking for various things. I have no idea what I'm doing and so I've decided to let a probate/Estate company deal with it.

They charge a lot but if it takes all the mental stress off me then that's a good thing right? Ant is not able to deal with any of it. Also it comes out of money I've never had anyway.

However, since I signed up, the company haven't spoken to me once. They've sent 5 e-mails asking for me to check and docusign. They are questions like do I want to get insurance in case someone else comes out of the woodwork and puts in a claim on the estate. Clearly that would be a pain but is it likely enough to need insurance? Also do I want them to do a will check? I'm 99.9% sure I don't as I had to drag dad to do his will just after his diagnosis, even thought he said he already had a will - turns out he did - written in 1982. I very much doubt, therefore, that he would have had another one written in that time. There is no reason why he would... but what IF he did. - There's an insurance for that. - another £150. They then point out the potentially dire consequences should I not take the insurance. Scare tactics perhaps. Nobody has called me to guide me through this.

I don't understand the process. It feels overwhelming already.

And we've barely started

56) When you think you're doing OK and then something small tips you off the edge.

When you think you're doing OK and then something small tips you off the edge.

We've finally reached the point where we're ready for a skip (dumpster). Enough stuff has been moved out of the house for there to be room to get to other stuff which needs to go out.

About 30 Freddy-fulls have gone to the recycling centre already, and yesterday I arrived with Freddy-full no.31 to find the main gate firmly locked. WTF!  With a whole car brimming with stinky stuff weighing a ton, my only option was to drive to a different recycling centre six miles away. I arrived with about fifteen minutes to spare.

On explaining my plight to the little hi-viz man at the gate, he explained my usual tip would be closed 'for the forseeable future' as their ramp had suffered a catastrophic landslide and needed a re-build. Disasterous timing for me as I still have half a house to empty.

So I rang the local skip hire place where the lady said she'd send me a link to pay £330. The next morning at 8am, the link appeared. I followed it and paid the amount, confirmed it on my app and got a big red 'DECLINED'.

Bugger!

I tried again with the same result, so at 08:30 I rang my bank. A foreign sounding man answered. 'Hello Ma'am, please rest assured everything is all Ok, don't worry, I am here to help you and we will get it all sorted for you. I would need to go through only a few security questions and then have no worries I will be helping you today.'

'OK'.

'Thank you ma'am for answering those questions today, please do not worry, I will be able to help you with your query and we will have all this sorted. How are you today Ma'am?'

'I'm OK.' I said, eager to prevent any more word-filler spam niceties, and waited for him to sort it.

'I am well thank you Ma'am,' he said, without a hint of sarcasm,  'Thank you so much for asking.' (I hadn't). 'Don't you worry, we will have this sorted right away.'

'OK' I said, again, seeing it was now 08.43. 'Is it maybe because it's a new card and I need to use it in a machine first?' I asked.

'I can see the money has been applied for, but it has not gone out of your bank Ma'am.' he said, ignoring my question, 'However don't you worry about it, we will have this sorted for you in only a moment. May I place you on hold for only a minute?'

'Yes, OK.' I said, settling a bit more into my chair and flinging my slippers across the room.

Four minutes later he was back. 'Thank you so much for waiting there Ma'am. I am so sorry to keep you waiting. Is it OK if I transfer you to my colleague as you are needing to speak to a different department? Thank you so much for your patience and your time. Don't you worry ma'am we will have this sorted for you.'

Arguing was futile so I allowed him to transfer me. 

It was now 08:53. Something mildly akin to the sound of pan-pipes, played from a foreign radio station inside an oil barrel at the bottom of a lake then assaulted my ears for a further 8 minutes. Then a lady with a Liverpool accent answered the phone, asked for my account number, name and how could she help.

As she answered, the skip company called me and not being well-versed in the complexities of putting one call on hold while I answer another - being more likely to cut them both off, I ignored the skip company while I went through the whole scenario from the start again. New lady got straight to it - she could see the request but it hadn't been the bank who declined the payment. At this point the skip company called again and all I could hear was BEEP...BEEP...BEEP. Stressed that I'd lose the skip as they'd think I was avoiding them, I started shaking and completely lost my sanity. I began crying big huge snotty sobs down the line. It was 08:59. I'd been on the phone almost 30 minutes to be told in 30 seconds what I should have been told at the start of the call. In my mind I'd now lost the skip, everyone thought I was an idiot and my life was in tatters.

I know, it was only a small thing but when you're right on the edge, the smallest most insignificant thing can just tip you over. I hung up after a minute or so of big snotty sobs, I managed to pull myself together, rang the skip company and paid over the phone. The skip was delivered 3 hours later and is now proudly parked on the driveway.

55) The cupboard which hasn't been opened since 1986

Above - the cupboard which hasn't been opened in MANY years.

I'm not sure why it was a thing but in the 80s and it may still happen for all I know, you were able to take an empty wine bottle to a shop abroad and they'd fill it for you with some of their local brew. They'd then put some paper sticky label over the top and it was allowed through customs as part of your allowance.

It doesn't sound wise to me, but anyway.

Dad liked to take full advantage of all his allowances. so his suitcase always weighed a LOT more on the way home. He also bought the packs of 200 cigarettes. None of us have ever smoked so I assume he was getting them as a gift for someone. 

Yesterday, as I intended to spend my usual six hours at the house, my plan was to get to the built in cupboard in the corner of his bedroom. I knew the stuff in front of it had meant nobody could get near it for many many years and of course was wondering what I'd find.  It had been mum's wardrobe while she was alive, but she died in 1994.

After moving three boxes away and sorting them. I slowly pulled the door open. Unsure as to what may leap out, fall out, pour out, creep out or slither out. When I opened the door the smell hit me - alcohol!

I took a step inside, I felt like one of the kids from Narnia - a kind of magic to it but a little bit scary at the same time. I pulled out a mahoosive suitcase first, which felt quite heavy. I opened it and inside were summer shorts, a few pairs of underpants, odd socks and some vests. In amongst the freshly ironed cotton handkerchiefs, were about 50 scrunched up hotel napkins and tissues, 14 hotel mini-soaps in their individual wrappers, hotel sugar packets, shampoo and shower gel, shower caps and a few toothbrushes. It would appear from this that the draw, as far as dad was concerned was in the acquisition of these items rather than the using of them. I won't deny being guilty of snaffling the odd hotel shower gel if it was a special one but the soaps; the mini bars especially, will last at least a week so he must have snaffled them daily. He never used a shower cap. One of the soaps disintegrated in my hand. There were 2 wine bottles, one of which had nothing inside but had, apparently dribbled its contents, over the past 40 years, all over the inside of the suitcase and down to the floorboards beneath where it had left a dubious browny-black sticky residue.

Suitcase aside, I pushed the clothes apart. No Narnia fur coats here, only a few yellowed polo-shirts, four pairs of never worn, with labels, men's trousers. A jacket which belonged to mum and a number of plastic coat hangers which virtually disintegrated when I flexed them.

Behind the clothes were 4 large boxes, on their sides. Inside the boxes were many bottles of unidentified alcohol. Three of the bottles were empty and one was half full. I dragged one box out, took out the leaking bottles and put it back. I had nowhere to put it.

On the inside of the door was a plastic rail with about 70 men's ties. Dad liked his ties. The rail was probably designed to hold ten or so ties. It was bent in the middle. I left the ties there. I will no doubt take them to the charity shop soon - but this will have to wait until I have time to go there.

At the back, on top of the boxes, was a 12 pack of Andrex peach-coloured loo roll. Surely coloured loo roll went out in the eighties?

Another Freddiefull to the recycling centre and I was home for 5pm.

53) Questions and Answers from people who've never been in the house. And those who have.

We have found the sofa - 8 weeks in. We have space to sort stuff. No judgement please.

As word gets out, people kindly ask how I'm getting along. of course, I tailor my reply to whoever asked the question. Those who know are likely to get a bucketful of stresses all tumbling out. Those who are just being polite, have the somewhat reserved reply - 'slowly'.

It is at this moment the replies separate people from those in the know to those without a clue.

The Clueless

1)  'If it were me, I'd just put the lot put in a skip!' 

Calculate each large skip at £369 each, by about 50, plus the manpower to fill the skips - so far me, Ant and my bestie. Currently a Freddy-full is the result of a day's clearing and it feels cathartic to dump it all at the recycling centre at the end of a long day, then go home shower and rest. 

If there was a skip (dumpster), there'd be pressure to fill it asap, before some neighbour thought it fair game to put their own rubbish in it in the dead of  night. Plus we have to sort EVERY bit of paper, as so far, we have no idea if he had any kind of life insurance, savings, shares, bank accounts, premium bonds, pension etc etc. He seemed to be a man of many secrets.

2)  'Just sell it as it is and walk away.' 

Just because there's lots of junk in there, this doesn't mean there's not a load of good stuff in there too. Also Ant lives there and has the lifetime right to live there.

3) 'I'd just set a match to it.'    

F*** Off you bell end.

4) 'If it was me, I'd clear a room at a time...' 

(Usually said by a man, mansplaining). Have you ever done those little flat plastic square puzzles you get at Christmas where, in order to move one square to a different place, you have to move 20 squares to do so? Same principle - you can't clear one room as there's nowhere to put the stuff you take out that you need to keep - there really is nowhere. The only way is to just clear bulk from all rooms at the same time - everything which can go - I estimate over two thirds of it - can go out, this gives room to move other stuff about, gradually allowing space to sort and move.

5) 'It must be so difficult and so emotional going through all your dad's stuff.'   

Er difficult - definitely. Emotional, yes - in that there are a range of emotions, most of which are disbelief, anger and despair. None of them involve tears of grief and reflection.

And those who've been in the house.

• I just never realised the scale of it.
• F****** H*** (followed by stunned silence)
• I know you said he was a hoarder; but this - is something else.' (followed by a rapid exit).
• 'OOohhh you've got your work cut out for you.'
• 'I'd heard it was bad - but this... I don't know what to say.'
• 'OMG - it's EVERY ROOM.' (yes and the garage, attic, greenhouse, shed and coalhouse).
• 'This is going to take you MONTHS.' (more like years).
• 'But surely it's a fire risk.' (tell me something I don't know).
• 'Did you know it was this bad?' - er yes!
• S I L E N C E (clearly in shock).

I tend to now keep myself to myself, keep my answers to a minimum.  My mates follow my Facebook page, which tells them all they need to know.

OK - time to go back to the house.  Wish me luck xx

52) 9th October 2026 - So what have I learned so far.

Ten weeks in - what have I learned so far.? 

On a whim today I ripped off the wallpaper I've always hated. I have great plans for that wall.

So he's been gone about 10 weeks now, and life has been... interesting!

I have found many interesting things at the house, we will deal with them later. 

I spoke to the next door neighbour at the house yesterday, he mentioned how he'd watched the bin men collecting the blue recycling bags that morning. These bags are similar to the Blue Ikea bags, slightly bigger and a bit stronger. We have managed to get the local council to let us have three of these. Looking at the surrounding houses, the bags usually get to be about a quarter to a third full - a few newspapers, junk mail, food wrappers etc. The bags are collected weekly.

The neighbour said the bin men get to the house and look through the bags as they're so heavy, they don't believe there's just paper in there. They check and it is only paper. They then visibly brace to pick the bags up and empty them into the vehicle.

And there's more to come. I'd estimate we're about a third of the way through the total volume of paperwork in the house. Sixty-five years of keeping every bit of paper that has ever come into the house; 

• every newspaper
• every junk leaflet
• every bank statement
• every annual review for life insurance
• every bit of paper from packaging
• every receipt
• every school book anyone ever owned (inc his parents)
• every photograph
• every cereal box
• every envelope
• every payslip
• every bill and invoice
• every monthly utility bill
• every letter ever sent to him
• every Christmas Card
• every birthday card for the whole family
• every life insurance annual update
• every shoebox
• a copy of every letter he ever wrote
• every school report or letter from the school
• every annual report

Our job, myself and Ant is to go through EVERYTHING to sort the needed stuff from the rubbish. We have boxes and boxes of paper queueing up to fill the blue bags. I take these boxes to the recycling centre each time I take a Freddy-full and still there's more. So much more... Sometimes I take a blue bag or two full and drop it outside friend's houses as their collection day is different, this way we have a collection two or three times a week. And yet still there's more. It's the house that never stops giving.

I work three days a week and I'm at the house every other day. I want to keep going before Mr Mojo desserts me. Yesterday I was there for 8.15am, I started by filing Freddie (my car) so he was ready to go. There was an old carpet offcut, 12 unpaired shoes, several old radios, a box of bits of wood, 2 old stuffed toys, a box of rags for recycling, 3 black bags full of rubbish, 18 bits of mouldy plasterboard, and the rest of the space was packed with flattened cardboard boxes.

51) Bear with me - Life has been busy.

 

Since the funeral, and even though I've understood all my life, that one day that house would be down to myself and Ant to sort out, the enormity of the task is still sinking in.

The things we have found are crazy mad. It's a constant surprise in a 'what on earth is in this box?' kind of way.

We have found;

• A large box full of garish, vomit inducing swirly carpet and underlay offcuts from the lounge - laid in 1970. The whole box has been in the living room taking up space since then.
• An envelope full of Fairy liquid advertising posters.
• An envelope full of bits of wax which have fallen off or down the side of candles in mixed colours.
• A box of bits of cut off copper pipe - had been painted so had been used at some point.
• a bag of three new stopcock taps.
• An old engineering manual from 1973 - out of date but with a sheet of 12, King George V, mint stamps.
• A box of bits of metal - pipe bits, brackets, screws, unidentifiable bits.
• several unopened and well out of date full tins of roses/heroes/quality street.
• A huge number of single shoes - never worn and with their partners missing.
• An old Austin car Haynes manual - with a whole sheet of  200 stamps. 1/2p value so £1 total.
• Odd pairs of new shoes in boxes and bags, so old they split when bent.
• Half drunk bottles of Rum and Brandy and Sherry which had to be poured down the sink.
• A tin of what once were peaches, black stuff has oozed out somehow and adhered the tin to the shelf. Once free, the tin weighed virtually nothing. I don't know where the peaches went.
• A gorgeous old hardbacked and illustrated Peter Pan book.
• Two green flamenco dresses age 8 and 10, clearly meant for my daughters 14 years ago.
• A small pair of boy's dungarees aged 18m - probably bought or my son, now aged 23.
• A teddy bear - squished flat and covered in years of dust, under 2 heavy boxes.
• A crisp multipack bag full of empty and flattened crisp packets - all laid neatly on top of each other.
• Another carpet, used, beige, about 6ft x 5ft, rolled up behind the sofa. Due to this, the sofa spent its life three feet further forward than it should have done for 15 years, making the room 3ft smaller.
• Seven tins of Heinz tomato soup, all covered in black sticky stuff stuck to the shelf. One was hissing at me so it went in the garden until I deem the explosion risk low enough to transport it to the tip.
• A box full of wires and old shoes. A lovely mix.
• A shoe (sandal) squashed so flat it was impossible to tell it was a shoe from the side.
• 1000 Lira note (about £5)?
• Lots of 1p and 2p pieces - sadly no £50 notes yet.
• An old His Master's Voice Shell type gramophone speaker - we knew that was there.
• A pair of original 1960s house windows, hidden behind a tallboy in the bedroom.
• 2 2.5ft speakers which dad made. The same sound can be had from a device the size of a seedling flowerpot today.
• A huge box, from an old cathode ray (box type) TV. Full of the polystyrene originally used for its packaging. The box took an enormous amount of living space for 25 years or more.
• My late mother's sewing machine - which I had asked him many times if I could have the year after she passed away and he said he would look for it. Well, it has taken over 2 months to find but I have it and it was only about 2 feet from her side of the bed.
• A box of 6 beautiful bottle green wine glasses in their original box. 3 had their bases snapped off - I've saved the other 3. 
• A bakerlite original telephone, a bit tatty but cute.

The thing is when I show these items to friends, the almost unanimous reaction is 'oooohhhhh I bet thats worth a bit!' 

So hear this. Its almost NEVER worth a bit. Not a big bit anyway. 

Once you've factored in finding someone who's genuinely interested and knows the value of said thing. Where do I look? 

One has to remember an item is only worth what someone is prepeared to pay. I then have to find a buyer. I have no platform other than perhaps Ebay or similar, so I need to know how to describe the item when half the time I dont even know what it is. 

A number of times it's been suggested I go to the Antiques Roadshow or the company who go round the UK buying vintage stuff. 

I did go to one of these.

I took a Steiff bear which belonged to my grandfather (1899 - 1986), two bronze and very heavy small bronze cherub statues, 2 silver plated christening bracelets, 4 pairs of vintage earrings belonging to my grandmother, a map printed on cloth dated 1905 of Cardiff, a silver plated vase and ornate teapot, an old antique clock, an old watch and the above telephone. I took a day off work for the event which was 9 miles from home.  I drove there, lugged the heavy box into the buliding, sat down and waited an hour and 5 minutes. I showed everything with a brief history and lined it all up on the table. She assessed the items, it took her about 20 seconds. She offered...

£20 for the lot.

I looked at her. She looked at me.

'Really?' I asked.

'We sell them to TV companies for background props' she said. 'So if you think they're valuable perhaps take them to a dealer or try Ebay. 

Catching my grandad's bear's eye as he lay on the table looking upset and abandoned, I instinctively picked him up and put him in my bag. 'He's not going anywhere.' I said. 'No I can't take that.' I packed the lot.up and lugged it home again.

A day off totally wasted.

But at least I kept the bear.

50) The funeral part 2 - the memorial service.

 Friday September 4th 10:30

Today was the 2nd part of dad's farewell/memorial/funeral, (the cremation was done 3 weeks ago).  This was a rather more light hearted affair at the church he'd attended regularly since it was built in about 1965.

The cremated remains were on a table in a casket at the front of the church where the coffin would have been, had it had been a traditional funeral.

The vicar gave an absolutely perfect service - with the eulogy I sent him woven into it. He didn't make dad out to be someone he wasn't and we were grateful for that.

'He was a great collector - a collector of Stuff... Lots and LOTS of stuff.'  There was a light-hearted giggle from the congregation. 'He leaves a legacy which Izabelle and Ant will remember him by for a very long time.' that got a smirk and a few giggles from the congregation.

I am definitely convinced we did this funeral the right way for our family. Funeral Directors are seeing more and more bespoke type funerals these days. 

The traditional church funeral where the coffin is wheeled into the church in front of friends and family and the service is done with the deceased in the room. A dead body, in a box, right there in front of everyone.

If you're like me, your thoughts are just that - 'Erm, there's a dead body in that wooden box there,' I keep glancing at it. I don't really know what I expect may happen but it is unsettling. Sometimes there are other clues that a person who is no longer living is in the room - sometimes, especially if the temperature is a little on the warm side, nature takes hold and odours get out. This is at best unpleasant. The funeral directors do their best - often the person is wrapped in waterproof body bags where necessary and there are absorbent crystals which can be put in the coffin to prevent - er - leakage.

At the end of the funeral service, the coffin is whisked back out and loaded onto the back of a Hearse and half the people, including close family, swan off in a stretch Limo and a swarm of family saloons up to the crematorium leaving other friends and family, who may have driven miles and miles to be there to support the living family members alone at the church with nobody to talk to.

At the crematorium, the same happens again. The coffin is wheeled in and placed on a catafalque which is a raised platform. The coffin stays there all through the second service, which is usually shorter than the church service but similar. As the service ends, dependent on family choice, the curtain is either left open until the family have all filtered past and out into the wild blue yonder or it's closed atmospherically slowly. This is the part I loose all my composure and howl like a baby.

All this costs - a lot.  By the time you have added the funeral director fees, transport of the deceased, a coffin, the preparation and storage of the deceased, a hearse, a limousine or two, the minister or celebrant or humanist, the hire of the church and the crematorium, the funeral staff, the cremation fee and the flowers, you're looking at the best part of £6000 upwards these days. Burials are not that different as far as cost goes, because instead of the cremation fee, you have to buy the burial plot and pay for it to be dug and prepared. Then there's the headstone - solid marble, plus the engraving and installation - it's going to cost a fair bit.

So people are looking for options. It's difficult. Life is expensive right now, and death is even more so. Life is hard and when you're going through all the aftermath of a bereavement which you have little choice about, to be frank, you just don't need all that as well.

And social pressure makes people feel guilty about not being able to keep up with the Joneses.

Let the Joneses do it their way, I say. You do it YOUR way. Every single family is different and there are many options these days. It's a little bit sneaky too because some people don't like to talk about death and dying and funerals and to some extent, that becomes the advantage of the funeral companies because they know it and they play on it.

The simplest and most cost effective way is the Direct Cremation. this is where the deceased is taken to the crematorium in a simple coffin, with no family present, the cremation is done and the ashes are ready for the family to have back after a few days. 

The ashes are returned to the family by default in a simple Eco Box, this is a box, about the size of a shoe box, made of a cardboard covered in a muted colour, often  bearing the name of the crematorium. The deceased person's name, cremation reference and date of cremation is also put on the outside. Inside the box, the ashes are usually inside a further, inner bag, often made of paper.

For the cremated remains, scatter tubes of various designs are available to purchase for between £25 and £30 for an adult size. These are large tubes, made of sturdy cardboard with various choices of different designs on the outside, such as flowers, hobbies or nature scenes. The funeral director can put the ashes into the scatter tube container for you and seal it. These tubes, providing they are kept dry, can be kept at home for as long as necessary, until the time is right for the ashes to be scattered. When the time comes, the lid is taken off and inside is a perforated disc which needs to be pushed through and the tube can then be passed around as required and the ashes scattered.

Or if it's more your thing, the ashes can be put and kept in an urn on the mantlepiece.

Sometimes the funeral director is able to keep ashes until the spouse of the deceased also passes and the ashes can then either be mixed together to be scattered or interred.

So, things to think about to keep costs low.

1) Have a direct cremation - despite these being advertised on the tv everywhere, they are usually also available from your local funeral director. The advantage is your passed person will usually stay in your part of the country and as a result, often be back with you sooner. - Points to remember there is NO ATTENDANCE AT ALL. Often the funeral company will not be able to tell you when or where the cremation will be done - if they have access to a few different crematoriums, your passed person could potentially be sent to any of them (they're all regulated). They don't want to tell you when as they don't want people turning up at the crematorium, 'to pay our respects' as there is nowhere for these people to go. No crematorium chapel will be booked. No attendance means just that, none at all, not even the nearest and dearest. Nobody. Sit at home and think about your passed person instead, raise a glass, walk the dog, sit on a mountain, whatever it takes.

2) Bespoke Direct Cremation. This may or may not be an option in your area - ask around. You still have the direct cremation as above, but you're able to pay a little extra for the facility to view your passed person before the cremation. (the charge is made because the deceased has to be taken into the funeral home chapel of rest, which takes time and staff).You may be able to choose what they wear to their checking out event. You may be able to pay extra to ensure they are taken to the crematorium of your choice. Ask about options.

3) A backwards funeral. You have a direct cremation for your passed person and have the ashes back. The ashes can be placed into a casket or a scatter tube or stay in the Eco Box. In the UK a casket is like a mini coffin, but more of a rectangle shape, again about the size of a shoebox. It's for the cremated remains. You can have this casket at a celebration of life kind of service wherever it suits - a church with a minister, a hired venue, top of a mountain, by the sea, down the local. You do you and Celebrate your passed person's life your (their) way. You could do the scattering at the end (check with the landowner if this is allowed first). You save a lot and it may be the last thing your passed person would have wanted anyway. You can choose a minister, a humanist, a celebrant - whatever suits YOUR family. The funeral director will be able to point out the right one for YOU. Some folk want a bit of humour, some don't. Whatever sails your ship.

Remember, lots of folk don't want a traditional send off. They don't want a funeral and everyone being a red-eyed, snotty mess. They want their life celebrated. Also some of them genuinely want their loved ones not to have to take out a second mortgage to pay for their send off. It's just one day. A funeral is lots of faff, fuss and stressful anyway. There's really no need. Remember them in other ways. Have a mood board at the bash with photos of them doing goofy things. Remember them as they were and as they would want to be remembered. Nobody should be judging you about your choices for your family. Do what's best for you.

I did what was best for me (but a few rules were bent as I work for a funeral company). I had a direct cremation for dad but I was able to walk him in through the chapel while my choice of tune played (dad's favourite - Jesu joy of man's desiring). At the end of the song, the funeral director asked me if I would like a moment. I stood there alone, with one hand on the coffin, said a few words, turned and left. Five minutes start to finish. Just me there... and dad.