Well a sobering one this week isn't it.
My uncle Alf was a frail, quiet sort, with those thick rimmed glasses of the time, that reminded me of Ronnie Kray. He led a quiet, average, happy life, and died of something quick and natural. We wern't close, but I always remember him being a smiling decent adult in my younger years. It was my mother that asked my sister and I if we wanted to see him in the chapel of rest. We went along, and walked round his coffin in this hushed side room in East Croydon. I had to be around nine or ten, and due to my shortness I was only just taller than eye level to the coffin. I didn't recognise my uncle as he obviously wasn't wearing his thick glasses, just looked like a thin faced old man in a deep sleep, two thin threads of saliva connecting his top lip to his bottom. All throughout I felt the heat of my mothers gaze watching me to see if I lost it, I think she was in two minds if it was the right thing to do by letting me in there. My lack of reaction was as intriguing then as it is to this day. Would I demonstrate the same free will if I had children? I can't say,though I turned out fairly balanced.

Perhaps the episode was overshadowed by the ugly aftermath I witnessed as the relatives gathered like impatient vultures over his estate. Relatives whom I had only ever known as warm, nurturing sorts in my childhood transformed into greedy, tearful, unreasonable spite-merchants as they turned on each other. My mother being executor to the will as well as being a legal-heavyweight was forced to be referee and go between. Even my Uncles old next door neighbours wanted a slice. They dug up the flagstones on his patio to compliment their own, till they were sued to shame by the aforementioned.


No jokes for length, and apologies for lack of laughs, will try and apply myself next week.
(Eeeza bit Tidy A blink, a pause, a blush and then I knew., Thu 28 Feb 2008, 17:37, Reply)