I went up to Yorkshire with my family to bury my uncle (he fell, hit his head, they couldn't operate. He had enough time to say goodbye to my aunt, and for his brother and sister to be with him when he went. May we all be shown such mercy when our time comes.)
How did it go? Taking a wide view, as well as it could. The church was packed, nothing major went wrong, there was an excellent address from the vicar, and we played and sang his favourite songs.
I cried. That makes twice in twenty five years.
From a personal and petty point of view?
Well, there were a few minor problems. And some stuff I just want to get off my chest.
1) My brother and I were sharing a room at the hotel we stayed at. That was not a problem. He had some beers and I had a bottle of rather decent Merlot the night before, also not a problem. My hand shook while I was drinking a glass of red, staining the sheet (a few spots with a palm-sized one. I blame the bed and the plastic cup.) We'll see what the hotel says tomorrow. At worst, I'll apologize and offer to pay whatever the cleanup cost is - I doubt it will go further than that. I hope it won't go further than that. My brother then decided to do some cocaine cut with Lord-knows-what. Yours truly has gone to sleep by then. YT has 48 hours of fatigue poisons and a bottle of Merlot in his system. Weirdness ensues.
2) Next morning. My trousers and shirt have shrunk in the wash. Shirt buttons gaping, trousers stay on by sheer force of will. Put coat on in attempt to disguise both. Dread taking coat off. Smoke pipe of "Royal Yacht" Dunhill tobacco. Relax a bit. Discover everyone else male is wearing smart trousers and a tie. Panic. Remember my uncle's motorcycle buddies will be going. Panic a bit less. Go to memorial service.
3) Asked out of the blue to act as pallbearer - apparently it's traditional for male relatives. Panic rising.
4) Thank God for funeral directors - there's a professional at each end of the coffin and they take most of the weight and direction. Church tiny, and I am wearing combats.
5) Get uncle into position. Have to be reminded discreetly by mum that my aunt has arranged for me to sit on a chair at the front as my fat arse won't fit the Victorian pews (and in case she needs someone to help her). Discover no one else has taken their coats off. Relief.
6) Jolly good service. Vicar speaks well, sing some tubthumping hymns.
7) Carry coffin out. Church on my blind side, coffin on good side. Can't see a blessed thing. Somehow make it to hearse.
Straight into limousines for trip to crematorium. Desperate for tobacco, aching as forced into unnatural position.
9) Few words said at crematorium. Aunt cries (entirely understandable), get quite emotional as uncle's favourite song is played.
10) Manage to sneak smoke behind crematorium. Not in good taste, but am stressed, emotional, and gasping.
11) Go back for wake in pub. Pint, food, smoke, all is well.
12) Until I get a stress related panic attack and a nosebleed.
13) Panic rising. Bleeding at a wake - that is beyond the pale.
14) Manage to get gushing nose under control, but have bloodstained shirt. Re zip coat to hide red stains.
15) Go back to Midlands. Accident and roadworks. Takes twice as long as expected, but worse things happen at sea.
I was quite upset, until I asked myself what my uncle would have thought - he'd think most of it funny (not in a nasty way).
So, barman, an Adnams Broadside for me and whatever these good ladies and gentlemen are having, and I ask you all to raise a glass in honour of my uncle.
Xerxes.
