My father wanted to his ashes to be fired out across Poole Harbour in a distress flare – naughty!  But that would have alerted the coastguard and potentially resulted in a heavy fine.

I wanted to pop him in a pipe and smoke him like Roland Rivron and Jools Holland do, with the ashes of their dead cameraman, in Groovy Fellas from 1989, in which Rivron plays a naked alien with a tiny antenna on his head and Holland takes him on a tour of the North of England in a stolen Rolls Royce.  But I don’t smoke.

Somehow, I feel that interning him in the People’s Pyramid is suitably bonkers and he would have approved.

Piers was deeply irreverent, a thrill seeker and a true eccentric and, though I’m not sure he had ever heard of the KLF, and as far as I know he never did get high and rave all night, he was with me in spirit whenever I did.  He was fascinated by all the hippy trucks that made their way through the sleepy Dorset village I grew up in, on the road to Castlemorton, and loved the stories from my horsedrawn days.  My love of nonsense and the surreal came from him.

Who knows if this pyramid will survive 5000 years like those in Egypt?  But does it matter?  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.  He is with my mum now, where he wanted to be.

Emma Butler, daughter