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Moments of mirth
Some of the more amusing moments of the three-day funeral.
The driver who picked us up from the house was obviously a reformed boy-racer. He'd accelerate from a red light as if the hordes of hell were after him, and considering there were four of us filling up his minivan that was quite an impressive move. He thought nothing of answering the phone and talking to his solicitor as we careened around Regent's park traffic and it was only after we had blasted through the west end that I got really worried: he put his seatbelt on.
The wake deserves mentioning because I met more of Ann's family than ever before, including her cousin Mark. Mark was tough, and I mean tough.Every question or story involved serious bodily harm. "How's your scooter?" "Oh it blew up on me and I picked it up[ and threw it in the mud and left it to burn", "Would you like a cigarette?" "See this scar? I got this when I threw myself out of a window because I noticed a cigarette machine out in the street", and "Does your tattoo hurt?" "About as much as when I stick my arm in the oven and wrap my fingers around a heated metal tray, yeah" the best of course was when he complained how awful Ann's mother had been to him as a child when she poured bleach on him or Vim or some corrosive agent. That was until she corrected him: "It was soap"
We were driven around on the day of the funeral in the most gorgeous Daimler Limousine and at no extra cost it was arranged that we would be driven to the airport in it too. I had to resist the strong urge to wave to the public and nod my head royally at them.
Apr.10.2002