Firstly, I must say massive and most heartfelt thanks for all the messages of condolence I�ve received following BFs ma�s death. They�ve been truly uplifting and BF and I have been really touched by your kindness.
There�s lots of �post-death� type news, naturally, but I�ll bung that bit in at the end in italics so you get the chance to skip it if you aren�t feeling mawkishly sentimental.
But, hell! Some other stuff must�ve happened in the last week, mustn�t it?
Friday night we went to my parents for a family dinner as it was Simone and Andrea�s last night in England. Pater and my bro did the honours with enough Chinese takeaway to feed�ummm�China and there were two (count them!) scrummy puddings. Simone made a German cheesecake (no bottom, no fruit on top, just the cheesey part) � in the interests of culinary surveys I did try it, even tho I soooo hate cheesecake. Whilst I could appreciate how beautifully it was made, it did still taste like rancid foot scrapings. *shudder* I hate cheesecake. Sis made a blueberry and lemon cake which was jolly delish. The blueberries were uncooked so they did look a bit like olives, but we�ll let that slide as it really did taste very very nice and it was amusing to see sis go all huffy and say �they are NOT fucking Olives� in a lemon-mouthed way. Ive only ever eaten blueberries in some kind of �cooked up into blue-black goo� sort of way. I like them better raw. And they don�t make your teeth go blue, either. BF didn�t get too legless (remarkable in the circumstances) and apart from a couple of times when I could quite cheerfully have knifed him.....
...(1. His impression of �Me and Stepfie having Monkey Sex� � I�m not sure if my dad was impressed to rigidity at BFs demonstration of my evident athleticism or whether he�s had a seizure�and 2. (at the dinner table) �Hey Stepfie, tell everyone about how your dad was your super-sub in the Celebrity Sex Camp thing�. At this point, seeing as the room had gone eerily quiet and I was easily able to make myself heard � apart from the whooshing sound of tumbleweed rolling across the dining table, naturally � I said �Beeee Effff, do you understand the concept of pseudonyms? You do? Then you�ll know why people FUCKING WELL HAVE THEM. Some things are PRRIIIIIIYYY �VuTTTTTT, dear. Now then, is there any Singapore Chow Mien left?�)....
.... he was sweetness and light itself.
Skip Saturday (see below), and on to Sunday. Think I mentioned a couple of entries ago about BFs dad being moved into a new nursing home. Yeh, well, he moved today. *Perfect* timing. So Sunday saw me, BF and his Sis (Suse) moving all the stuff out of Dads old flat. Bearing in mind that he has been in hospital for six months, the ceremonial Clearing Out of the Fridge was lots of fun. I held the bin bag while Suse chucked armfuls of prehistoric yoghurt, fossilised cakeys and ominously bulbous cartons of milk over her shoulder. We salvaged the three big packs of KitKats (wellllll, they don�t go off, do they?), two tins of salmon (�fucking hell, Suse. We�re not chucking them! I can�t afford to buy tinned salmon! I�ll just pop them in my handbag.�) and a bottle of whisky (which I am keeping safe and NOT DRINKING as it will give me great pleasure to give it back once he�s settled in). BF had gone to the municipal dump � or �recycling facility� as its now known � to get rid of the old furniture, so Suse and I were in charge of getting all the big stuff over to The Palace to store in our garage, and all the small stuff over to the new bachelor pad. Unfortunately, the �small stuff� also included the telly, which is as big as a starter home. We�re both fairly well-muscled so we weren�t too bothered about the lifting and carrying. We got the telly to the new place without incident and got it into the lift. Sadly, the lift is padded inside, like a cell, to stop all the old folks injuring themselves in fits of dodderyness, which caused us much hilarity and impressions of bonkers people in padded cells on our way to the first floor. Lemme tellya, its not easy doing a credible impersonation of an amusingly bonkers person whilst carrying the heavy end of a ginormous telly. It was only when we had exited the lift and were proceeding in a giggling direction along the ridiculously lengthy corridor, that we began to fully appreciate just how weakened we had become by our ill-placed mirth. The telly suddenly became VERRRRRY heavy indeed and started to slide out of our sweaty grip. Suse tried to barge the swing doors open with her backside, only to discover that the only way to open them was to PULL. Cue balancing of telly on hips, opening of doors with one free finger, swearing, sniggering at the true awfulness of the telly-dropping opportunities (three more sets of doors to negotiate before we reached dads room) etc etc. Oh, what a jolly day. When we got back to the Palace to unload the fridge, freezer and microwave, BF was still at the dump. So we had a cup of tea and some chocolate digestives and, when he got back, pretended we�d only just arrived so he would help us. (By �help us� I mean that we could hold doors open and carry the plug end of the flex and BF could do the grunty, sweating, sweary bit).
Skip Monday � it was a Bank Holiday but I don�t think anything much happened � apart from the girlies coming back from Shagnasty�s to be told the �bad news� (Cue weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth. And requests for sweets �to help us feel better�) and the sad demise � ah, so much death! � of our beloved and ancient lawnmower. The billowing black smoke and stench of melting plastic components indicating that there was little we could do to aid the poor beast � apart from phoning Trev, who turned up with the petrol mower within twenty minutes and did the full up-down-up-down British stripy lawn thingy in return for the payment of two beers. Yay!
Back to work yesterday. Toast has generously granted me two �compassion days� this week so Im able to take some time off to prepare for the funeral. This, of course, means condensing a week�s work into two days. Had to write an article for the trade press. There�s so much BIG STUFF going on at Twat Inc its actually getting difficult to know what�s OK to say, so I had XXX run it by Toast once I finished it, just in case the stuff Id been advocating as a Jolly Good Idea was about to become obsolete. It passed the Toast Check, so I guess my job�s safe for another couple of weeks at least!
BF is out tonight � rehearsing, as he has a gig with Odyssey � all together now �Mau mau maranti, irantieo, ishay kale mamauah� (or something).
So then. The depressing stuff.
Saturday we went to BFs mum�s house as the undertakers were coming to take her body to the funeral home. I hadn�t realised she was still in the house and was a bit freaked out. BF kept asking me if I wanted to go in and see her, but I just couldn�t. BF and Suse howled and clung onto each other as the hearse drove away. I broke the button off the pocket of my jeans as I was squirming myself into my chair in the effort of trying to become invisible. Then it was off to view the Woodland Burial Site for the funeral on Friday. On a positive note, if this is something you are considering for your loved ones (or for yourself), it really is a lovely idea and perfect for those who love nature and the changing of the seasons and all. If you like the solemnity and �proper�-ness of a regular churchyard or crematorium tho, Id suggest you stay away. The emphasis is very much on �doing one�s own thing� and personally speaking; I find it all a bit too much to bear. I certainly couldn�t contemplate buying a bamboo coffin off the internet, pushing a bier, digging a grave (BF did draw the line at that) or doing my own �lowering� at such an emotionally difficult time. There are no headstones or other permanent memorials, so BF and Suse have elected to plant over the burial site with bluebells and to have a tree planted at the head.
Before all this happens, there�s to be a short service at the Catholic church where BFs ma went to school, but no hymns, just some music playing � including that bloody Flower Duet, I�ll never be able to listen to that again.
After the funeral, its all back to The Palace for the funeral tea (Oh, Great British Traditions! Dontcha just love em!), I get to spend the whole day tomorrow preparing food with restorative properties for the assorted mourners because, let�s face it, after a funeral what one really really needs is a cup of tea and piece of Victoria Sponge Cake. Oh, and I also get to prepare for BFs Birthday Dinner Party which follows on directly after the last mourner has departed. I fell just short of begging BF to postpone his birthday celebrations until Saturday, or perhaps to consider having the funeral on a different day, but he and Suse are adamant that it is the most suitable day (to celebrate one being brought into this world, and to say final goodbyes to one departing etc). So I have a dinner party for eight to deal with on Friday night (including two vegetarians).
Apart from my culinary role, my other duties for the next day or so include reading a poem at the graveside (I CAN do this. I CAN) and organising the flowers. Normally people know what they want when they order flowers. BF and Suse have left it all to me. Im terrified Ive got it wrong � A large spray of scented white lilies from BF and Suse and two posies of �cottage garden flowers� from the two grand-daughters (Suse�s children).
I am anxious and weepy about the whole business. Its so different to the way us Stepfords do things, and I cant throw up my hands in horror and insist on it being done my way as, lets face it, we�re all different aren�t we? And she wasn�t my bloody mother.
Yours apprehensively
S
x
PS Smash just dared me (by text!) to tell you that he is "about to get FUKKIN JIGGY!" (in a nightclub, I believe). So I have. I have to say, that's quite the most spectacular employment of the term "lightening the mood" I have ever enjoyed! Yay Smash! xxxxxx
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