Slowly trying to get back in the blogging habit after an Xmas hiatus and birthday shenanigans, actually shenanigans were few and far between, I’m getting too old now.
I have about 20 unfinished posts that I need to work through, not in the sense I have been torturing myself on how to write them, I just started and then had to do something else and never went back to them. I read about other people’s writing habits how they go back to a post half a dozen times reading it over and over to make them perfect, I’ve never done that, preferring to bang them out quickly (I’m an expert in banging things out) but then you can probably tell that from reading them.
You may recall my Nan died the other week, I went back home to her funeral, it was my first burial. The surroundings were nice as far as churches and graveyards go, it was settled below the South Downs covered in snow, the churchyard sitting at the end of a country lane.
These aren’t my photos, you can tell as there is no snow in them and I already said it was covered in snow, and I also thought taking photos at a funeral wasn’t wise. You can read more about the church here, it’s quite interesting, there is a giant Yew tree which is being supported by rather unorthodox scaffolding
This was the view from outside though you could barely see The Long Man of Wilmington, the chalk figure etched into the hillside, since it blurred in with the snow
I honestly thought we would be the only ones there as my Nan was rather reclusive, but then many elderly people arrived, maybe about 20 in total. I was convinced it’s like when girlfriends get married and judge each others weddings trying to outdo each other, were these elderly ladies taking notes on the type of funeral they wanted?
If so they would have gone away with little, it was very quick. The host – the religious guy/priest/vicar/father (I’m not sure what rank he was) read out a few chapters of the Bible, we forbade singing and eulogies. The coffin lowered into the ground on top of her husband who had passed before I was born. This made me think of sexual positions and we joked what if they had lain them in a 69 position – Laughter really is the best medicine even when it is wholly inappropriate.
There was a nice touch when one single rose remained on the coffin as it descended, Rose was her name after all. It made me think of the Guns ‘n’ Roses singer, Axel Rose, would he have a Rose on his coffin or would you place part of a car chassis on it?
The vicar wore this grand cape, there was a nip in the air but I found it all a bit theatrical of him. We joked he was parodying Dracula, and we told people who didn’t attend that we found him squatting atop a gravestone and he leapt off splaying his cape and cackling at us on our arrival.
We went round her house the next day, we turned into vultures picking at the scraps of her vintage furniture (I’ve earmarked a drinks bureau). The stench of urine was pretty intoxicating, but I remembered she always smelt this way 30 years ago, she was 91 when she died. I hope someone has the decency to tell me I smell, maybe you don’t notice it yourself. But then I’ve spent the whole afternoon with bits of food in my teeth after having a sandwich on poppy-seed bread and no one had the decency to tell me.
There was a tragic event in Camden Town this week, a 9 metre long shop sign fell on some poor chaps head killing him. What is amazing is only one person was hit, I walk this stretch of road and it is always busy, and I always walk under that sign of the bookies to check the latest odds in their window. The news report retrieved statements from many witnesses, all declaring “It’s awful, it could have been me”
What a strange thing to say. You never say these things when people are rewarded with good luck. When a couple win £120 million on the lottery no one says “That could have been me” You just curse them for outwitting the billion to one odds of a winning ticket.
Maybe a terrible event just makes us question or own mortality. These random events do strike a chord – they are so sudden. Tragic accidents occur every day on the roads but there is almost an inevitability to some of those due to the statistics. There are always some cyclists being killed in my area, but it can be a dangerous thing to cycle in London, there is always an element of risk. But then you could be in a major city and a tiger attacks you as you stop for a coffee as befell some other poor soul – would that be higher or lesser odds than winning £120 million on the lottery?
There is something incredibly sad which actually strikes me more than the natural death of my Nan, that the lad was likely just on his way for a pint after work, or popping into the supermarket for his dinner that night, or on his way back to the tube after work. A young life so suddenly snuffed out when your mind is just on your everyday chores.
It’s a tragic situation and such a shame that he never lived long enough to accumulate vintage furniture that his grandchildren would later scrap over.