Rise up through the whelk...

 'Pooh?'

'Yes, Piglet.'

'Do you ever think about dying?'

'Nope. Happy with the colour I've got.'

'No, I mean mortality.'

'Oh, beetling around this vole of tears.'

'Yes.'

'Can't say I have, much. I mean, we're in this life, each of us coiled round our mortal. Not that I've ever met mine. Must be dead shy.'

'I think the phrase is this mort--'

'No, as Mr Creedence Clearwater enjoins us, we must simply keep on chooglin'.'

'How do you choogle?'

'For pity's sake, Piglet, we've been doing it for long enough. You must have a clue. We...you know, get up, wash, brush teeth, dab of Blue Stratos, swift pre-choogle, breakfast, post-pre-choogle, out the door, major choogle for the whole day till we --'

'Un-choogle?'

'As we beguile the twilight with a splosh of Ovaltine, yes.'

'Yes but...where do we go when we go?'

'Oh, you mean that. Well, it's all arranged.'

'Is it?'

'We rise up through the whelk.'

'You mean the welkin.'

'I don't think its family comes into it. We rise up through the whelk and there's Saint Peter flashing his pearly whites. He says how do, you say not so badly apart from being dead, bit of a crimper but never mind, he asks to see your loyalty card, you say half a mo, I've got a barista pass with one bit unstamped, he says fair enough, in you go, keep to the paths, no spitting or ball games, harp distribution in an hour.'

'But some folk think we have to keep coming back...you know, doing it all again and again till we achieve --'

'Oh, I don't hold with that. Having to drink endless Carnation. Addles the tum.'

'I don't think that's quite --'

'No, Piglet, up we go and that's that. And back here we're remembered with a phrase of suitable plangentiousness. "At rest...called home...gone before".'

'Before what?'

'Before we would have gone if we hadn't known we would have been after if we hadn't gone before. Honestly, Piglet, you can be a touch dim-wattled at times.'

'But a lot of people don't believe in heaven and all that.'

'Oh, them. I've no time for Arthurians. Poking people with their lot of lances, brandishing that dead important sword.'

'Excal --'

'Exdirectory...thinking they're so great for going on errands, we all do it, who hasn't picked up a carton of milk at the all-night Londis, we don't wave it about and yell "My liege, behold, attend, vouchsafe - I bring you the necktie of the gods - here, you're not lactose intolerant, are you?"'

'Well....'

'Look Piglet, to put your mind at rest, come round tomorrow and I'll explain exactly how to choogle.'

'And the Blue Stratos. Is that indispensable?'

'Oh, no...pump-action.'