“I’m sorry, Mum. You can’t drink a cup of tea. You’re dead.”
I like a cup of tea. I’ve always liked a cup of tea. And I want one now. And if I’m dead, I can jolly well do what I want. “No, you can’t.” Yes, I can. “Prove it.” Prove what?
“That you can do anything you want now you’re dead. Go on… Make a cup of tea.”