As I walked towards the chapel, I was wondering whether I had found the right place. Then I passed a clump of people, and overheard the word "publishing" in their conversation. Then I passed another, and overheard the word "Internet". I was in the right place.
Ken arrived. Liam arrived. Mary and Simon arrived. Other people I thought I recognised but didn't know turned up. Someone asked if I was on CIX (not for years, but I was there when Compulink became CIX sometime in the mid-1980s).
The coffin was wicker, or cane, or something similar. Which was pleasing. It arrived on time, but everyone was still stood around outside talking till about ten past. Finally we filed into the chapel, about 125 of us in a building designed to seat 120.
There were stories. Such stories. The story of The Chaos Field, and the story of how the handout came to be printed. The clarinet, the choir, the sandals and the beer. And, of course, the Story of How the Sand was Boiled. There were good words, from W H Auden ("He was my North, my South, my East, my West") and Richard Adams ("You've been feeling tired, but I can do something about that.").
Someone said that "Guy was the man who made Britain love computers".
Individuals decorated the coffin with flowers.
And we were done, and the family left to accompany Guy to the graveside.
I understand that several people were going to go stumbling down the High Road towards East Finchley in search of a pub, but I had to head off home with work to do.
And as I left I felt that I'd be very pleased to have had a funeral such as that.