When Oliver Peyton eventually departs for the queue behind the red velvet rope at the great Atlantic Bar in the sky, the restaurateur wants his family and friends to see him off in the carefully choreographed, hedonism-laced and somewhat idiosyncratic style that has been his hallmark.

He will be buried in a biodegradable coffin in a wood in Berkshire after a small service, which will be mostly secular but involve a priest — “I’ve got a bit of Catholic in me” — and feature Jerusalem, a solo rendition of Ave Maria and Frank Sinatra’s Fly Me to the Moon. “I’m pretty conventional when it comes to tunes at services.”

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