During the last dotcom boom, I had a most agreeable job advising investment bankers on the value of some of the propositions that were put to them for funding. It was part of my role in a company, an ‘Internet Incubator’, which specialised in getting viable internet-based enterprises off the ground. City Investors were approached by many of the organisations that believed that they had moneymaking schemes that would revolutionise commerce.

Those days were very like the hysterical phase of the South Sea Bubble of 1715. That far-off time abounded with such schemes as the building of floating mansions, distilling sunshine from vegetables or the manufacture of square cannonballs to be used against Muslims. Many of these schemes attracted investment from a public that had seen vast fortunes made. Like the DotCom boom, or the current house-price rise in the UK, it all seemed so easy.

A variety of propositions that had caught the eye of the investment bankers were paraded in front to us for our assessment. We would have adopted, and turned into reality, any that looked like being a ‘flier’. My role would have been to define and implement the technology. It was very hard not to laugh at the many entrepreneurs who presented their proposals to us. They had forgotten the awful truth that the Internet was merely a useful extension to existing business practices. An experienced retailer was far more likely than anyone else to run a successful Ecommerce business. Most of these people had not even studied the area of commerce that they were hoping to revolutionise. They were, without exception, utterly convinced that their ideas were wonderful and that they were on the brink of a fortune. They swore us to secrecy and made us sign ridiculous non-disclosure agreements before they would breathe even a word of their splendid ideas.

My favourite presentation was ‘Click A Crematorium’ , which would allow you to select from any of the crematoriums in the country for your departed loved one. If, one supposes, one felt the angels calling, one could surf the brochures extolling the sylvan glades of the memorial parks, or read with wonder the technology of the furnaces, and book your spot. There were others too, such as a curry home-delivery service wherever you lived in the UK.

We made the mistake, at first, of either collapsing into giggles, or of telling them that they had more hope of becoming the next pope than they had of getting their ideas to work. We were so upset at the thought of the wasted money and work that were the inevitable consequence of their determination to go ahead with their schemes, that we tried to dissuade them. They were extraordinarily offended and immediately ascribed our contrary opinion to our stupidity, or to a cunning scheme by us to steal their ideas. The bankers reproached us for our lack of tact, especially as they’d thought the ideas to be the best of the bunch

I hit on the idea of expressing our unqualified praise and admiration for their ideas, whatever they were. I got the idea from another member of the panel who was completely caught up in the zeitgeist and who genuinely believed this every time, and who usually had to be drawn to one side for a dose of reality-serum. Instead, we now aped him, by glowing with enthusiasm at every presentation. We shook their hands and asked to see their detailed business plan. None of our hopefuls had one. We then asked them to come back with a business plan.

Business Plan? Invariably, they agreed with slightly glassy smiles. Without exception we never heard from them again. Mostly, the effort of the task repelled them so much that they abandoned their schemes, but a few did their plans and discovered with shock that, even if all went well, there were some noughts missing in the profit figures.

Because we had been so agreeable about their presentation, they all left us with warm thoughts and a firm handshake. It was all very harmonious.

I was, of course, careful to double-check with the subsequent progress of all the schemes that we’d reviewed. To get it wrong would have been unforgivable. They had all disappeared within a year.

I still have nagging doubts about that ‘Click a Crematorium’ idea. Maybe it was a good idea, occurring before its time. My aunt arranged her own burial once she knew that her death was imminent. It was a wonderful event, with a wicker coffin, in romantic woodland in the depths of the country. She found the Internet perfect for her task, and the planning of it provided her with much interest in her declining days. An elderly neighbour of mine, when arranging his mother’s funeral, discovered that he could get a discount if he did his at the same time, and he has proudly showed me his tombstone in the churchyard, complete with his name on it. It had everything on it except the actual date of his death. He keeps a photo of it on his mantelpiece just to remind himself to pack as much fun into life as possible.

As the moths are now getting into the Post-war-bulge generation, Mortality is now chic. Now is the time, perhaps, for that final frontier of the Internet age to be reached. Hmm. Time to phone my chums in Investment Banking. But firstly, I shall do a business plan.