Making arrangements for the hereafter is a burning issue

Loose Cannon has quiet, easygoing neighbours. It is impossible to get a rise out of them no matter how much noise chez Cannon might make. And with Baby Cannon's predilection for late-night hip-hop dance sessions, that noise can be considerable indeed.

Yes, the dead are an exceptionally tolerant lot, and those residing in Pak Fa Lam at the tip of Ma On Shan Country Park have especially good reasons to be content.

Many of them enjoy their eternal rest ensconced in elaborate, horseshoe-shaped masonry structures that even the living would envy. Nestled in the slopes above Ho Chung Valley with a stupendous eastward view across the glistening waters of Hebe Haven, the fung shui is outstanding.

There are no tightly packed, tiny concrete tombs in this resort community for the deceased. The resting places, some of them occupying more than 3,000 sq ft, are spaced at comfortable, dignified distances from one another amid thick, shady growths of sub-tropical forest.

In these venerable tombs lie the mortal remains of some of Hong Kong's most illustrious souls. Some are reputed to be five clan-era chiefs from three centuries gone, others village heroes who died fighting the British when their troops first seized control of the area in 1899.

Even Sun Yat-sen's mother, Madam Yang, rests nearby on Flying Goose Hill.

Some have questioned Loose Cannon's decision to move his family to the middle of a vast, jungly graveyard, where the narrow road is crumbling and the nearest 7-Eleven is four kilometres away. But the village's last indigenous resident - an 87-year-old chicken farmer named Lau, who passed away last year - thought it quite natural that a gweilo should live among the ghosts.