It’s early morning. I’m with my Dad. He’s had a (nother) fall. Bruises all down one side.

Paramedics were called two hours ago. While we wait Dad asks if mum is ok.

Oh Dad she’s gone. She’s died. We did her funeral last week. Ah he says. She’s ok then!

The funeral was, well, different. Some priest none of us let alone mum had known. Bit of Bletchley church group. Poor Irish sounding chubby priest was grappling with the sound system. Just as well I’d bought a CD ( remember those?) player. Mum arrived in her hearse bedecked with beautiful flowers. She’d have giggled. The coffin and flowers hit the doorframe above. The sound system echoed the kitchen noises. The chubby Irishman suddenly said he’d been born with the sand between his toes. We jumped awake and focused at that. Shook our heads. Turns out he was born in the Caribbean went to Irish Seminary training then to America for more seminary. How he ended up in Milton Keynes who knows?

One of the readings establishing love was kind, love was patient. Led Fr Chubby to muse that mum was patient. Well she was kind. But as all our shaking heads testified. She was never patient !

Somehow Dad made it through and onto the hotel afterwards. My children actually thought I was joking when I told them the name. The Cock Inn. You can of course imagine the jokes.

My brother’s eulogy at the ‘Cock’ was brilliant, funny, accurate depiction of mum. Not least of which the toast to her – shots of whisky and or baileys. The laughter was definitely heard up heavenwards !

Next day was the cremation. We shivered outside our house while we awaited mum’s arrival. Lovely J was walking her dog. We discussed dog poops as you do. Mum would’ve laughed !

Crem as ever awful. Family only. Name wrong on the stupid tv screen. Horrible velvet curtains closed around the coffin. Dammit I meant to say don’t shut the bloody curtains. Leave the coffin. Don’t start the bloody chimney. I should know all this. Ffs. I forgot. Hate those bloody crems. What’s that Michael Caine Italian Job bit. Kept coming g into my head. Mum loved that film. “You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off.”

We did it somehow.

But now back to Dad. Ambulance has arrived. More later.