Yesterday the boys, the dog and I set off to Suffolk for the grand event of Granny's funeral which was sad in parts, happy in others. A beautiful service was followed by a lovely party, ending with a drunken family dinner reminiscing over her more politically incorrect moments in life. She would have enjoyed it. I would have enjoyed it more if she had been there but then we all realised it was a lot easier without her having a hissing fit over some minor triviality. I almost started on her behalf as I was about to launch into a tirade about a fish kettle full of ice in the hall - it was for the champagne - and I could just imagine her screaming "I don't see why anyone would want bloody ice anyway and certainly not from a fish kettle." I controlled myself. I had a go about the awful smelling drains instead. I am definitely turning into her.
I came away with a book on handwriting and one on ballet, a disintegrating patchwork quilt, 5 chipped willow pattern plates, a motheaten mink coat and a hangover. Quite a haul really.
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