S o here’s the rub…I die but want to let my nearest and dearest know I’m okay; that life does go on after death. But obviously I can’t just tell them. That would go against all the known laws of the universe.

What I have to do instead is communicate this vital information via another human being who appears in theatres and community halls and is blessed with the ability to contact the ‘other side’.

Naturally, there is no way to prove these people do have a multi-dimensional scart cable plugged straight into the soul of existence, but that’s the attraction.

If you could get a NVQ in communicating with the dead, we’d all be doing it.

No, these special persons have clearly been blessed by an other worldly entity that recognises their selfless commitment to easing the pain of those left behind.

Which, since I’m dead, is a blessing.

It means that if I can communicate with these ‘conduits of spirit’ by materialising to them and them alone between the earthly hours of 7.30pm and 9.30pm with an interval for drinks, I can at last reassure those I love.

Clearly, being dead in body but alive in spirit is a mind-blowing truth I want to pass on. And I want everyone to know that. So at the appointed time, theatre and seaside town, I make myself known and pronounce the glory of ever-lasting life.

Except, for reasons unknown to me, I do instead by revealing:

a. That the ring is behind the headboard

b. That Bobbie, who I wanted to reassure, is in fact Bob or even Barbara

c. That I was the kind of person who could be maddeningly stubborn but simultaneously the life and soul of any party

d. And that, believe it or not, Auntie Brenda is sharing the same space-time continuum with me, and yes, still insists on wearing those slippers…

Now, call me small-minded and cynical, but I just happen to believe if I were dead, I would want to say a lot more than ‘Even though we’d argued, I was there watching you win that kick-boxing trophy’.

You see, I’d want to talk about the glory and majesty of existence; the miracle of ‘life’, however it’s defined; and the awe and child-like joy of realising that it doesn’t all end with ‘ashes to ashes, dust to dust’.

In short, I’d want my loved ones to know that the gift of life is actually more extraordinary and astonishing than our very limited dictionary of words and emotions can ever convey.

But I guess those just aren’t the rules.

So should I die sometime soon, let me save you all the time and expense right now by telling you, yes it was me who wore your dentures by accident…