More death
I was sitting in the White Hart in Caerleon with my mates Mike & Tim a couple of days after my dad's funeral, but before the interrment (so I was still hanging around at home in Wales before going back to college in Brighton), trying to avoid talking about mortality, funerals, etc. and they were obliging me by avoiding the topic too while we proceeded to drink beer and smoke tabs.

Then a blameless old school acquaintance I hadn't seen in years wandered in, saw me and came over, beaming, to say hello and catch up. He was like a big yellow labrador, but I really wasn't in the mood.

After a few minutes of "what are you up to these days?", he asked "Does your dad still drive that big yellow Mercedes he used to have?".

Just the right pause, then I deadpan "No. He's dead." The whole pub went quiet.

Poor bloke didn't know where to look, mumbled some sympathetic noises and excused himself.

After he and his pals left, I said to Mike and Tim "Don't worry, he was a cunt anyway" and we all laughed (mostly in relief I suspect).

The sad thing is he wasn't, really. He was just a useful way for me to vent my frustration/grief. Sorry Cecil.
( shinyshinyscalp less a man, more a way of life, Thu 12 May 2011, 17:35, Reply)