On my Mum's side...
At the tender ages of 94/95 my grandparents have finally been coaxed out of their 15th-century deathtrap house and into a nursing home. My grandfather is almost blind, almost deaf, walks at shuffling pace while bent double, is unbelievably cranky, and has outstayed his welcome on this planet by about two or three years.

So, my nan is loving the nursing home as there's lots of other old biddies to talk about the war with, grandpa is threatening to call the police because they won't let him smoke in his room.

In the run up to the big move, my mum was down at the house going through 40-odd years worth of crap that my grandpa had accumulated, separating it into small things to take with him, stuff to go to auction, stuff to go into a skip.

Sitting there with the old man, he just randomly declares "I've got a skeleton". Sure enough, it's upstairs in a closet - a human half-skeleton with skull, spine, ribcage but no arms and legs. It should be pointed out my grandfather was a surgeon in his prime, not a serial killer (that we know of).

So Mum goes home and tells my Dad, who instantly suggests it be buried in the garden for the new owners of the house to find in a few years time when they're planting some veggies.

This idea is quickly shot down, as is the suggestion it be left in the basement under a tarp. It ended up going to the wife of one of Dad's colleagues, who was an osteopath, for the princely sum of 250 quids...
(squirrelysquirrel, Fri 3 Jun 2011, 4:18, Reply)