I�m so sorry if you�re sick of hearing about it�.Hell, I�M sick of hearing about it! Maybe if I just blather on a bit, the little snippets of non-death news will flit in and out and something readable will eventually emerge!
Thursday�. a day of preparation � not only for the funeral, the burial, the funeral tea, the wake etc, but also for BFs birthday, which I was determined would be as good as I could possibly make it. Mid morning on Thursday, I mentioned to BF that he hadn�t actually ordered any flowers to send to the funeral on behalf of his dad. As you know, BFs dad had Alzheimer�s and sometimes doesn�t even know what day it is. Added to which, dad and mum never really got on, and despite living in the same house together for over forty years, had enjoyed a distant relationship. Nevertheless, I pointed out that they could have got divorced at any time and chose not to, so they must�ve still been reasonably fond of each other, despite all the indicators to the contrary. BFs mum, whilst she made no secret of how begrudgingly she cared for BFs dad before he became too ill to be cared for at home, made provision for him to go into nursing care and, when she found that care sorely lacking, took steps to ensure his transfer to a nicer facility. Dad, in his turn, would always ask the same question of anyone who went to visit him, "How�s Dooney?" I just didn�t feel it was right that a man should attend his own wife�s funeral, with no tribute with his name on. Suse and BF caved in under gentle pressure and I ordered a spray of bright mixed flowers.
The rest of the day, I cooked. Jooj and Treacle were on half-term last week so they helped (quite a lot, actually!) with the making of pastry and the chopping of ingredients and the icing of cakes etc � so much so, that I have promised them both a fiver in return for their efforts. Their father collected them at tea-time and I carried on with the mixing and baking and assembling and writing reams of instructions for Mater (who was in charge of laying out the wake food). By 11.30 I was just about ready to drop, but I�d promised BF a tiramisu (his fave) for birthday dinner party dessert, so I was dunking sponge fingers and whipping up mascarpone whilst the clock ticked ever closer to midnight. Our friend C had promised to bring a pudding to the dinner party, so I needn�t have bothered really, but well, it IS his favourite!
Just after midnight I gave BF his present from me � a framed watercolour I�d bought at my dad�s art exhibition a couple of weeks ago. To be honest, it�s a bit soppy for me, kind of cottage-gardeny, but he was so pleased with it. God knows where we�re going to hang it!
Friday�.Started really, REALLY badly. My funeral outfit (black pinstripe trouser suit, orange shirt with turn-back cuffs, spotted silk scarf tied rakishly at the neck) made me feel like Austin Powers. BF was shaking so badly he had to have medicinal JD (ironically, a present to me from his ma, not two weeks ago!) at ten to ten in the morning and then Chum turned up with his tie in his hand as he�d forgotten how to tie it. It was one of those expensive Super-Thick ties which wont take a proper Windsor knot, so I just had to do a half-Windsor on it and to hell with propriety! And it didn�t go with his shirt. In fact, it was a VERY patterny tie, of the sort that made one�s eyes go funny. I was half expecting it to be like one of those "magic eye" pictures, where, if you stare at it long enough and kind of let your eyes go out of focus, a special "new" picture emerges, of dolphins leaping over a wave or something. I was really hoping it wouldn�t be some kind of naked lady type thing, but I stared at it for a really long time and nothing happened, so I guess it was just a regular tie with a really scary pattern on. Either that or Im rubbish at those Magic Eye things. Which I am.
The flowers turned up and they were SOOOOO beautiful. Exactly what we wanted. I was so glad to see that the spray from BFs dad was just as beautiful as the one from Suse and BF. Im not keen on mixed flowers but this was so vibrant and so carefully colour matched that it just looked "right" � deep crimsons and purples, with blues and dark pinks � just what a man would choose, if he didn�t have Alzheimers and wasn�t nearly 80 and had a bit more taste than a man would usually have. Or if he was gay.
Got to the church pretty much without incident and stood about in the sunshine chain-smoking and waiting for the rest of the mourners and the hearse to arrive. I was really glad to see my parents, don�t know why, as I�m usually fairly ambivalent towards them, the poor old sods. But it was nice that they were there, bolstering the Stepfords against all those BeeEffs. Pater had a tie on (with Windsor knot!), and a smart blazer and Mater was uncharacteristically calm and unflappy whilst I was trying to discretely explain that Id forgotten to leave baking trays out for the sausage rolls and that I thought that the chicken for BFs dinner party had gone off in the fridge (it hadnt!). Mater is really good at those magic eye things, so I got her to have a quick look at Chums tie, just in case. She pronounced "nothing untoward�.just a horrid tie", which was something of a relief. The hearse and eco-friendly, biodegradable, sustainable-resources bamboo coffin arrived. The bamboo coffin (which we ordered off t�internet � how weird is that!) still looked like a Chinese vegetable steamer. I�m going straight to hell, aren�t I?
The service, despite being in a Catholic church, wasn�t the full-on funeral mass I was expecting. No hymns, just some prayers, some carefully chosen music and some nice words from Father Dennehey. BF gave a (uncharacteristically) short eulogy and then took up his guitar and played "The Other Side of The Mirror", which is a song he wrote for his mum. Anyone who�s heard BFs last album would know it (Smed, I know you will!). About three-quarters of the way through, he started to cry. I started to cry. Chum (who was sitting next to me) squeezed my shoulder so hard I thought I was going to pass out, but it did stop me crying! I was so glad that BF had managed to get through it � he would never have forgiven himself if he hadn�t. Suse�s elder daughter (same age as Jooj), was inconsolable and refused point blank to attend the burial. As we shuffled about outside after the service I thought for one awful moment that they were going to make her attend, but mercifully Suse�s friend stepped in and said she�d take her home for a bit and then bring her back for the wake.
The cortege took ages to get to the burial site � I guess, being a woodland burial, you do have to go a fair distance from town to find a bit of woodland. I was kind of disappointed that nobody stood by the side of the road and doffed their cap as we went by. I remember my nan making us do that if we were out shopping and a funeral procession went by. We weren�t even allowed to speak until the last car had passed us. At the time I can remember thinking "God! Why don�t they HURRY UP! Are they NEVER going to get by us?". Conversely, I couldn�t help thinking, as we trundled along through the little villages en route, "Ah, exCUSE me! Don�t put your dry-cleaning in the car right NOW, thank you very much! Cant you just hold it in your hand and bow your head deferentially as we go by, you heathen! And YOU! Over there! Stop pushing that pram, AT ONCE! Have you no respect?" Do you know, some people actually gawped at the hearse. Or maybe they were gawping at the vegetable steamer bamboo coffin.
I�d envisaged a number of difficulties with the woodland burial. There were a number of difficulties with the woodland burial�..but not the ones I�d envisaged.
a) Suse�s youngest daughter takes one look at the bamboo coffin and decides to throw a screaming fit at having to sit on the horse drawn bier next to�eeeeek A DEAD PERSON
b) Driver of horse-drawn bier has "health and safety issues" with child sitting next to coffin and will only agree to it if a mourner jogs alongside to ensure that she can be snatched to safety in the event of the horse bolting (!)
a) The burial site would look like a scruffy patch of mud, with a slightly spooky air of "unpleasant news-show item not suitable for children and involving at least one officer of the law carrying out forensic searches".
b) The burial site would look uncannily like the cottage gardeny watercolour bought for BF for his birthday � complete with dappled sunshine and wild flowers.
a) Assorted smelly and dishevelled hippies generally found hanging about at burial site would detract from solemnity of the occasion.
b) Assorted smelly and dishevelled hippies would disappear quicker than you could say "Free tofu burgers, this way" and leave us so much to our own devices that we weren�t actually sure what we should do next.
a) BF, Suse�s husband, Chum and P � who were the allotted pallbearers and "lowerers" would slip/trip/fall/otherwise pitch headlong into the grave (having had no experience of the procedures involved beforehand)
b) Pall-bearers would accomplish all allotted tasks without incident but would puncture wheel on BFs dad�s wheelchair resulting in him having to be bodily lifted (including chair) over tree stumps/patches of bramble/other graves in a bizarre "to me, to you, left hand down a bit, mind your feet" kind of way.
a) Stepfie would be unable to read poignant poem at graveside due to being overcome with grief and would make arse of self.
b) Stepfie would read poem in clear loud unwavering voice but would then catch sight of Pater wiping eyes on proper handkerchief (not a tissue!) and have to bite lip V hard so as not to blub.
In every case, I envisaged a) and got b).
Back to the Palace then for a little restorative tea.
Mater had already gone off in a taxi to head us off at the pass and had put out all the food most superbly. The day was warm and sunny, so most people lazed about in the garden, scoffing cake and little triple-decker sarnies and glugging down copious quantities of beer, chilled white wine etc. Hell, I think one or two people even had a cup of tea!
One or two of the mourners made a little too much of our hospitality to the extent or raiding my private spirits store and necessitating the hiding of the aforementioned JD in the saucepan cupboard, leading to the following exchange:
Pissed Up Mourner: Oi! Where�s the JD gone?
Mater: Stepfie�s taken it away. There�s plenty of beer. Or wine.
P-U-M: Awww. I want JD. She shouldn�t have taken it away.
Mater: It�s a wake, not a bloody party
P-U-M: But I want JD
Mater: Then you should�ve bloody well brought some.
Cue Pater standing up but saying nothing in slightly threatening manner. Exit Pissed-Up-Mourner. Enter Chum laughing mightily and commencing vigorous hand-shaking of Mater and Pater.
BFs Birthday Dinner Party was supposed to commence at 8. The guests arrived. Unfortunately, the mourners�..ummm�.hadnt left. Well, some had, obviously, but there were still enough left for me to start to feel everso slightly panicky. Lets face it, it wouldn�t really be correct to start wandering round with a tray, saying, "Can I have your glasses now, please. Anyone wearing black? Your hospitality ticket has now expired, please leave quietly through the side gate." I had a little head count and went to the freezer for a quick recce of "suitable for an extended birthday party dinner" type food. I�d kept the Dinner Party Food deliberately simple (roast chicken, salads, StepfordTart, new potatoes etc � followed by Tiramisu and C�s brought-in dessert) so mercifully, with the aid of a big pack of meatballs and some bratwurst (oh and a shop-bought ice-cream bombe thingy � C must have *forgotten* to bring her promised dessert! I didn�t say anything), I was able to stretch the aforementioned Dinner Party for 8 (two vegetarians) to�.
BIRTHDAY SUPPER BUFFET FOR NIIIINETEEEEEN!!!!!!
Okayyyyy, 18 � as I didn�t actually get to eat anything apart from two potatoes, but I don�t think anyone noticed as they were all remarking on how fabulous the food was. Not a single person realised what had happened until much much later in the evening, when questions along the lines of "weren�t you supposed to be having a dinner party tonight?" started rearing their ugly little heads. A toast was duly proposed but I hid behind BF and wouldn�t come out. I didnt do it for glory. I just wanted BF to have a nice birthday. We went to bed at 2.30.
Rest of The Weekend In list form, to protect the bored-of-reading:
BF tells me several times that I am his angel and that I care for him the way his mum used to
We take two dustbins full of bottles to the bottle bank
We go out for a pub lunch. The food is dreadful.
I cook a curry and am reminded again of how truly wonderful and saintly I am by BF
I do some gardening and plant all the lavender plants BF bought in a fit of stupidity last week. My beatification by BF continues.
Whilst making packed lunches for the children, BF gets on my nerves by faffing about. I lose my temper and yell at him.
He looks at me aghast and says he cannot understand what has made me behave that way.
I tell him to Fuck Off. I knock a plant off the bookcase whilst slamming the door. Soil goes everywhere.
I cry. A lot. I cant stop. BF says "I have no idea what I am supposed to do. You arent like this".
I cry quite a lot more and say, "Im not perfect. I try, but Im not. Sometimes I yell. Sometimes Im unreasonable. I am not an angel. Im just how I am. Im not a replacement for your mum and I wont ever be. Im a different person. Im not infallible and I cant be what you think I am." Then I cant speak. For hours.
We made friends again this morning but I suspect there will be more on that one.
Yours, totally fucking worn out
S
x
PS Number of days I havent smoked for, on account of not wanting to die suddenly and painfully from heart failure at age 66: 2
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