Evidence that you can write an elegiac piece of prose to commemorate the life of just about anything

We are here today to mourn the sad loss of Humungous Box of Cling Film, who has been part of Fran's family for three years, and has been a valued member of the household.  Her passing today is a sad moment.  Let us take a minute to bow our heads.











BOW your heads, you hard-hearted swines, you.
















Now for Humungous's Official Obituary

Humungous Box of Cling Film was born into Fran's household in 2008 at the occasion of her son's wedding.  Humungous was purchased from a local supermarket and was a major feature of the said wedding, being used to wrap up 396 leftover baked potatoes which had proved not as successful a food item as had been anticipated.  From that moment on, everyone knew that Humungous was not just your average box of cling film, but one that, even after wrapping 396 leftover baked potatoes, had still a long, long life ahead of her.

After the wedding, Humungous was brought home to reside in Fran's kitchen, where, for the past three years, she has occupied a special place leaning against a tray and a dustpan and brush.  Every morning, Humungous has supplied a square of cling film for Fran to wrap her sandwiches in, and every day Fran has thought, 'How much longer can Humungous go on?  Surely she is coming to the end of her days.  She has lasted longer than every single one of the hamsters we have had, for a start.'

At the risk of speaking ill of the dead, it has to be said that, over time, Fran's attachment to Humungous began to diminish.  For a start, every time she pulled Humungous out from under the work surface, the tray and the dustpan and brush clattered to the floor having lost their main source of support from Humungous's humungousness.  Rebalancing a tray, a dustpan and brush and a box the length of the Wall of China was never easy for Fran when dawn had barely broken and she was still trying to hang on to a dream with Johnny Depp in it.

Also, Humungous could not be said to have been the most elegant of kitchen accessory, being the size of the Titanic (although, admittedly, proving more durable).  Every time Fran hauled Humungous out and lay her on the kitchen surface, she was at risk of nudging the kettle and toaster over the edge to a certain death.  Humungous had an edge to her personality, too, and over the three years, she has been the cause of the fact that Fran's sandwiches have contained peanut butter, cucumber and a few drops of fresh blood.  Not a recipe you will see on Masterchef.

One day, though (today), Fran's husband sat down at dinner and said, 'I have some big news.  Humungous is no more.'  And Fran shed a tear into her pasta, while at the same time thinking (guiltily) how nice it would be to have a neat little box of cling film nestling in a drawer, rather than a monstrosity such as Humungous taking up more room in her kitchen than Nigella Lawson's chest would have done.

You are warmly invited to Humungous's burial which will take place tomorrow morning at the Recycling Bin.  Hymns will be sung (starting with 'Cling of Clings') and prayers will be said for the soul of the dear departed.

Then Fran will be down at Tesco like a shot to buy Humungous's successor.

RIP Humungous.  Whoops.  There's no more to rip!  Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

No one had told Fran that the 300 meant 'years'