With apologies to Lemmy and James Hetfield, here’s why I’m giving cremation tattoos the finger

When I give people the bird (usually my children, behind their backs), I do so confident in the knowledge that it’s 100 per cent me.

By contrast, if you were to be shown the middle finger by Metallica’s James Hetfield, you’d not only be getting some serious “Enter Sandman” aggro, but also the added energy of Motörhead frontman, Lemmy – whose ashes are infused in the ink of Hetfield’s latest tattoo. Quite the double whammy.

Now, this is all very rock and roll, and in keeping perhaps with the outlook and attitude of a professional performer. Hetfield described his new tat as a “tribute and salute to my friend and inspiration, Mr Lemmy Kilmister”, which is fine I guess – but wouldn’t a memorial in the garden have done just as nicely?

I try to keep things light at home, but I’ve told my children in no uncertain terms that when I die, I do not wish to be turned into their body art. That’s not because I regard it as a desecration, or even particularly disrespectful; but rather because it’s just one more gimmick that plays to the commercialisation of dying and to our inability to cope with death as a normal part of life.

Indeed, it turns out that James Hetfield is by no means the first person to turn their nearest and dearest into a skin painting. While there isn’t quite unanimity about the long-term safety of mixing human bone with tattoo ink, many cremation providers highlight the process as a way to be bound in unity with your dearly departed. One reassuringly notes that the temperatures involved in cremation (950 degrees celsius, since you ask) “virtually eliminates the chance of infection”.

But if you don’t fancy granny under your skin for ever, you can just as easily turn her ashes into a pair of earrings or a necklace instead. Or, if you’re going for burial, just snip off a wisp of hair and bung it in a locket. Either way, it’ll only add a few hundred more quid to the funeral bill.

Even if you want merely to do some good old-fashioned ashes scattering, there are plenty of novelty ways to do it. Drones, for instance, will save you the trouble of actually climbing to the top of the mountain that grandpa so loved; and you can fix up a camera so that the whole dramatic airdrop will be available to watch from the comfort of your living room.

In case you’re wondering, all these methods of ash-depositing are perfectly legal – as long as you have the permission of the relevant landowner (whether that be Farmer Giles, the National Trust, or your local council); and as long as you have consent from the executor of the will to actually be in possession of the ashes in the first place. The sea and rivers are generally a free-for-all, but it’s worth checking with Environment Agency guidance – and try to avoid getting too close to fisheries.

Still, why all the gimmicks? There is, I suppose, a performative element in most burial services or cremations. But the majority are devoid of novelty value, which makes them boring in a world obsessed with putting on a show. If you turn great-uncle Jim into a heart on your left buttock, then the show can go on and on – an unwanted party piece if ever there was one.

Some of these contrivances also appear to be a reflection of – or response to – the modern angst many people have around death. Intrinsic to the ash tattoo or the cremation jewellery is a peculiar desire to maintain bodily closeness to a loved one who has passed on – albeit in a wholly inert way. That may offer superficial comfort, but it smacks of an emotional impotence in handling death’s reality: a terror of letting go, as if physical separation is somehow a betrayal. Whereas, if we keep some bone-dust in a bracelet, we’ll never forget our late lamented love, and so all death-related guilt can be assuaged (or its finality ignored).

And we’re encouraged, of course, by the marketeers, since death is big business. Even if you ditch the obvious novelties, you’ll find plenty of funeral companies offering top-of-the-range coffins and headstones to “best honour” your loved one, or marketing “hygienic treatment” (an easier sell than “embalming”) for an extra cost. It’s all unnecessary, all very cynical – and perhaps it’s no wonder we’ve ended up where we have.

There is nothing more miserable than when someone we love reaches the end of their life. But ash ink, cremation pendants and the like are less a way to remember the deceased and more an avoidance mechanism. None of these stunts make a difference to the memories, which in the end is all we need to keep with us. In the words of Metallica, nothing else matters.