My idea, recycled by Green Councillors. Well, fame at last!
Yes, composting the dead. Now, remember you read it here.....FIRST.
Ah, the fertile ground of satire has indeed yielded a rather pungent harvest! One can almost envision the scene: council chambers filled with the earthy aroma of municipal compost, as Bristol's finest debate the merits of transforming their dearly departed into topsoil. Well, it seems my whimsical suggestion in blog form from only a few weeks ago. Yes, this one
When Mr. De'Ath Comes Calling: A Mortals' Musings"
Now, I'm still getting my head around the idea of salvaging that compost, bagging it, and marketing it as the green-fingered version of "better than sliced bread"—perfect for the rose garden. Admittedly, it would never take off, because people get all soppy and sentimental about anything to do with death instead of thinking more innovatively in this so-called "green age" of recycling and saving the planet.
has taken root, sprouting into a fully-fledged policy proposal, much like a prize-winning marrow grown from… well, you know.
The image of bereaved families receiving bags of their loved ones' "enriched soil" to nurture memorial petunias is certainly a novel approach to grief management, though one wonders if the local squirrel population will require updated dietary guidelines.
The sheer audacity of suggesting human composting as a solution to carbon emissions and burial space shortages is a testament to the Green councillors' commitment to… well, something other than my satirical suggestion. One can almost hear the marketing slogans: "Bristol: Where our loved ones live on as loam!" or "From ashes to asters: The sustainable afterlife!" The logistical challenges alone are enough to fertilise a comedy sketch: navigating planning permissions for "human composting facilities," ensuring the proper pH balance of the deceased, and, as Cllr Fodor astutely pointed out, the crucial matter of hip-replacement removal. One imagines the local metal recycling plants are already rubbing their hands with glee.
But let's not bury the lead: my psychic prowess, or perhaps my uncanny ability to tap into the zeitgeist of Bristol's eccentricities, is undeniable. To claim copyright on the concept of human composting might be a stretch, but surely I deserve a metaphorical bouquet of compost-grown roses for my prescience at least. Perhaps the council could commission a statue in my honour, crafted from… well, you know. It would be a fitting tribute to the visionary who dared to ask: "What if we turned our dearly departed into daffodils?"
Thanks to CM for the nod.
