Ideally I would like a hundred benches. Every single one of them facing the sea. If that’s too much faff, I’d settle for the one somewhere in Margate. Somewhere you can come, and sit, and think, and be.

I don’t need a fancy pot to keep my ashes. Just find a decent spot where there’s a breeze. So the next time someone gasps at all the wonder in the world, a part of them is breathing in a part of me.

At my funeral I’d like there to be sunflowers. A truly inconvenient amount. For I too will have spent a lifetime searching for the light, and I don’t see a reason why that should stop now.

Wear what you want. If it were me I'd go for trainers or wellies. Something comfortable and colorful to match. For as it was foretold by the prophet Jamie Tartt dress shoes are for muggles and for twats.

For the reading I'd like Erin's poem about final moments maybe this poem should be read for context too. And for the singing nothing short of a full throated sing along of my favorite song….dynamite by Taio Cruz

For the food, just keep it veggie. For the drinks, serve up negronis. If I pretend to like them, you can do the same.

For the wake, if people want to chat then I am all for that, but, just in case, make sure a corner’s stacked with games.

Don’t let anyone apologise for crying. It is honestly my favourite thing to do. Just make sure everybody knows how much I loved being alive. The only thing that I loved more was loving you.

Speaking of which: if you are free, then I would love for you to be there. But if you can’t, because you’re dead, that’s not your fault. To be honest, neither of us quite makes sense without the other. I still think we’ll die together, like a cult.

And if anybody says I have gone to a better place, that is a kind and very well-intentioned lie. For there can be no better place than in a room with all my friends. Just promise we’ll do this again the other side.

Side note: let’s also do this loads before we die. And, by the time it comes around, maybe I’d hate it. I’ll live for ages and these tastes will change with time.

But one thing that I know that I will always find amazing is what a thing it is to live a life.

P.S. Let’s also do this loads before we die.”

There is the kind of love called maintenance.

Which stores the WD-40 and knows when to use it.

Which checks the insurance, and doesn't forget the Milkman, which remembers the plant bulbs.

Which answers letters.

Which knows the way the money goes.

Which deals with dentists, and Road fund tax and meeting trains and postcards to the lonely,

which upholds the permanently rickety, elaborate structures of living, which is Atlas.

And maintenance is the sensible side of love.

Which knows what time and weather are doing.

It's my brickwork.

Insulates my faulty wiring.

Laughs at my dry rotten jokes

remembers my need for gloss and grouting.

Which keeps my suspect edifice upright in the air, as Atlas did the sky.

59 wakes up on the wrong side of the bed.

Realizes all his hair is on one side of his head.

Takes just under a minute to work out that it’s because of the way that he slept.

He finds some clothes and gets dressed.

He can’t help but look in the mirror and be subtly impressed

How he looks rough around the edges and yet casually messed.

And as he glances out the window, he sees the sight that he gets blessed with of 60 from across the street.

Now 60 was beautiful.

With perfectly trimmed cuticles, dressed in something suitable.

Never rude or crude at all.

Unimprovable, right on time as usual, more on cue than a snooker ball but liked to play it super cool.

59 wanted to tell her that he knew her favorite flower.

He thought of her every second, every minute, every hour.

But he knew it wouldn’t work, he’d never get the girl.

Because although she lived across the street they came from different worlds.

While 59 admired 60’s perfectly round figure, 60 thought 59 was odd.

One of his favorite films was “101 Dalmatians.”

She preferred the sequel.

He romanticized the idea they were star-crossed lovers.

They could overcome the odds and evens because they had each other.

While she maintained the strict views imposed on her by her mother

That separate could not be equal.

And though at the time he felt stupid and dumb

For trying to love a girl controlled by her stupid mum,

He should have been comforted by the simple sum.

Take 59 away from 60, and you’re left with the one.

Sure enough after two months of moping around,

61 days later, 61 was who he found,

He had lost his keys and his parents were out.

So one day after school he went into a house

As she let him in, his jaw dropped in awe.

As he noticed the slightly wonky numbers on the door,

He wondered why he’d never introduced himself before,

As she let him in, his jaw dropped in awe.

61 was like 60, but a little bit more.

She had prettier eyes, and an approachable smile,

And like him, rough around the edges, casual style,

And like him, everything was in disorganized piles,

And like him, her mum didn’t mind if friends stayed a while.

Because she was like him, and he liked her.

He reckoned she would like him if she knew he was like her,

And it was different this time. I mean, this girl was wicked,

So he plucked up the courage and asked for her digits.

She said, “I’m 61.” He grinned, said, “I’m 59.”

Today I’ve had a really nice time,

So tomorrow if you wanted you could come over to mine?

She said, “Sure.”

She loved talking to someone just as quirky,

She agreed to this unofficial first date.

In the end he was only ready one minute early,

But it didn’t matter because she arrived one minute late.

And from that moment on there was nonstop chatter,

How they loved “X Factor,” how they had two factors,

How that did not matter, distinctiveness made them better,

By the end of the night they knew they were meant together.

And one day she was talking about stuck-up 60,

She noticed that 59 looked a bit shifty.

He blushed, told her of his crush:

“The best thing that never happened because it led to us.”

61 was clever, see, not prone to jealousy,

She looked him in the eyes and told him quite tenderly,

“You’re 59, I’m 61, together we combine to become twice what 60 could ever be.”

At this point 59 had tears in his eyes,

Was so glad to have this one-of-a-kind girl in his life.

He told her the very definition of being prime

Was that with only one and himself could his heart divide,

And she was the one he wanted to give his heart to,

She said she felt the same and now she knew the films were half true.

Because that wasn’t real love, that love was just a sample,