funeral

I haven’t been to that many funerals so far in my life, which is definitely a good thing. My reckonings come to six. I don’t have much memory of the two most important ones; both of my granddads, one when I was seven and the other when I was eight. All I can remember is mum making my brother and I wear our school uniforms. We saw both of them after they had died, and said a little prayer over them, and I am glad my parents were sensible enough to let us. Nothing to be scared of, after all. Mum loves a walk round a graveyard, even though the whole concept of being buried massively freaks her out, something which I completely get. I loved my granddads but have never felt the need to go and find them in a field, when they’re in my head anyway.

One thing I love about funerals (I know, strange, but bear with) is how surprisingly fun they can be. So many people react to the sadness by being immediately and extremely cheerful, fuelled mainly by sandwiches and whisky. One of the most banterous gatherings I’ve ever been to was after my grandma’s cousin’s funeral in Scotland, where all the old relatives saw each other again after millions of years and tried to remember who each other were. Serious fun. And after my auntie’s dad’s funeral, we did karaoke in a working men’s club, with the worst DJ in the entire world cheesing it up on the stage. My cousin’s husband sang ‘Saturday Night at the Movies’ for god’s sake. People were dancing. It was brilliant. I’d like my funeral to be that entertaining.

I think the worst thing about funerals is seeing the people you love sad. It’s a weird experience if you didn’t know the person that well/at all, feeling a bit guilty for not being affected enough, but finding yourself crying anyway because of how much they’ll be missed by everyone else. And how good a person they were and the people in the world you love who are good because of them. That’s what it was like this weekend: my uncle Ian (not strictly and uncle but my mum’s cousin) who was jolly, kind, generous and very dear to everyone in our family. And who was supportive in literally every way possible, due to his successful back-rest company… His daughter Fi was one of my idols when I was younger (some of you may know my teddy bear, Fiona, who is named for her. An extreme honour). It’s still a jolt to see your idols crying (it’s like a Freud thing or something isn’t it?). He was a genuinely lovely man and I’m very glad I knew him. And even if my main memory of him is the time we all went and got a Chinese takeaway, I still treasure it. This photo is of him on his wedding day, with my auntie Pat. Aren’t they lush.

I’m not sure there was a point to this but it wanted to be written so there you go.

xxx