ARCHES

Everything in my life’s always featured arches: from my eyebrows, to the archways dividing the three sections of the house I've built for myself in a disused rail tunnel.

My obsession with arches started on a train journey when I was three years old. With each tunnel we went through I became more fascinated, especially seeing the arches at either end. How are they made? Why don't they collapse? What happens to all the mud on top of them – and to the cows grazing in the fields on top of the mud?

That's probably why I chose to be an arch-itect (sorry); I specialise in designing standalone arches and curvy buildings, some of which have even won awards. But now, in retirement, I've begun designing and making arched coffins from fallen trees, purely as a hobby; well, that was until I was approached by the local vicar.

He came up to me when I was walking through the village the other day. He said he'd heard about my hobby and was very interested. He suggested we should go into business together. Odd.

He told me he’d thought about it a lot, and said he knows this bloke at the funeral parlour who'd be happy (for a cut) to persuade the deceased's nearest and dearest that arched coffins are the way to go (the USP being that the curve 'cuddles' the body. "It would be such a comfort to those left behind, knowing their loved ones would be eternally cosy, don't you think?" said he, smiling wryly over his pince-nez).

Anyway, that’s what the vic and I do, now, and it’s a profitable little side-line. In fact, to coin a phrase, you could say we're making a killing...