Well unfortunately you sometimes get what you wish for - big funeral yesterday, poor bloke who didn't want that trip to the crematorium, - leaving behind his wife and kids.
As I drove up round the corner of our lane there were two black coated undertakers directing traffic into the bungalows. Bit of a shock.
Huge turnout, church was packed, so was the road as a motor cyclist crashed, or was crashed into, up on the corner, so the main road was totally blocked, for hours.
Big black stretch limos; shiny hearse, sun heartlessly glinting off the engraved glass shielding the polished wooden of the coffin and stacks of irritated drivers, trying to thread through.
When I was a kid if we saw a hearse we used to touch our collars, and hang grimly on until we saw a four legged animal. The drivers were longing to touch their horns to clear a path, but under the circumstances just maintained a fierce stare.
Today there is a sad little parade of wreaths outside the church door, the flower shop girl[?]has carefully written out the messages, they can only be trite, but the sadness struggles through the banal words.
Words are so often banal, I write a blog almost nobody reads, I should know. We think in words, I think [ha] without words we would think in what, feelings, colours, dreams..........dunno.
I am going stir crazy again - being in the village too much; being retired; being old; again dunno.
I spend a lot of my evenings, let's be honest every evening watching television and stitching, I can't watch and do nothing, then I really go crazy.
It is like the box is my Sheharazade, every night more stories. Fortunately I can create my own schedule by recording what I want to see, and if necessary skipping the commercials to maintain the reality of the fiction.
Either that or read books, alternating genres, but always more stories. Very strange. Is it a need for words, ideas, an input of unreality, how much time do I spend in what passes for reality?
When I walk the dog, I day dream............and problem solve.I definitely work things out while I walk, maybe because I am insulated from all those words, except those inside my head.