AUNTIE Doreen was born to be a joker – so she would have loved the fact that her funeral was full of laughter. I grew up with tales of the tricks she got up to with her seven brothers and only sister, who became my mum.

Like the time they were kids in London during the blackouts in the Second World War, Doreen had them dangling foreign coins from lengths of black cotton from a bedroom window so that they jangled on the pavement.

Drinkers emerging from the neighbouring pub were left searching the pavements with their torches, driven mad by the thought that they’d dropped some hard-earned money.

Her sense of mischief stayed with her all her life. She had a look of the singer Petula Clark and, for years, she convinced my gullible younger brother Paul that she really was Petula Clark. When Petula Clark appeared on This Is Your Life, my poor little brother couldn’t work out why Eamonn Andrews hadn’t asked us to be surprise guests on the show.

I have great memories of the times she used to come up to the North- East with our cousins, David, Robert and Kathleen for summer holidays.

We’d have trips to the seaside at Redcar, Saltburn and Whitby and she’d be straight into the joke shops.

Our tongues would be black for days after she offered us trick sweets and my dad would end up smoking a cigarette that created a snowstorm in the house.

Once, she super-glued a 50 pence piece to the pavement and had us all sniggering behind the curtains as one passer-by after another tried to pick it up. One utterly frustrated young lad stormed off home only to return with a huge sledgehammer to try to shift it.

These were some of the stories from my own childhood which I recounted at Auntie Doreen’s funeral and the theme was just the same in a funny, brave and poignant speech by her 18-year-old grand-daughter Hannah.

Hannah told those gathered that she would never forget the laughter her grandma had brought into her life. “Thank you, Grandma, for all the fun,” she said.

It struck me that there’s no better way to be remembered than for having brought fun and laughter into the lives of children, whether you’re a mum, dad, uncle, auntie, grandad or grandma.

Even the vicar was moved to suggest that everyone in the room should vow to play a practical joke on someone soon, in Doreen’s memory.

“Who knows?” he said. “She’s probably up there playing a trick on Jesus right now.”

I can honestly say it’s the first time I’ve ever been to a funeral where an image has been conjured up of God with a giant sledgehammer, hacking away at a 50 pence piece on the pavement.

Of course, it’s always sad to lose a loved one, but, if there’s such a thing as a happy funeral, this was it.

The only surprise was that there weren’t whoopee cushions waiting for us all on the pews in the crematorium.

TO pass the time on the drive to London for the funeral, I organised a music quiz for my mum and two brothers, John and Paul.

A playlist on my iPod was made up of 60s and 70s songs from our childhood, and I was the quiz master.

I played “Summer The First Time”

by Bobby Goldsboro and I asked them to name the singer. No one could remember, so they asked for a clue.

“The intials are BG,” I said.

“Oh, I knew it was the Bee Gees,” replied my mum.

By the time we got to London, the score was Paul 250 points, John 170 points and Mum nil.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

MAX, 13, had been sent upstairs because it was past his bedtime and he’d stomped off in a huff.

“Teenagers!” said brother Jack, 17, shaking his head in disapproval.

JACK announced that he had to interview a relative or family friend for his English homework.

“You can interview me if you like,” I said, obligingly.

“No, Dad,” he replied. “It has to be someone interesting.”

WORD reaches me about William Hague’s visit to Middleton Tyas Primary School to open a community classroom.

“Does anyone know what the Foreign Secretary does?” the children were asked at assembly.

“Doesn’t he go on lots of nice holidays abroad?” replied one of the pupils.