Get the Beely heid doon, Soo, and sleep well and wake refreshed and un’edakish.
G xxx
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Medicinal Gin too…
Carinthia.xx
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Snortle, Armers.
Fed any good birds today?
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But you just wouldn’t name your funeral parlour that, would you !!! Think of the expectation 
Birds, only the usual. I’ve found they have a liking for sliced banana.
Goldeneye blackbirds appeared as well.
Saw new ones though. A large Kite (floaty flying style & exaggerated V shaped tale. A small blue/grey heron & a pelican diving into the sea & exiting with dinner.
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It is sixteen years since we buried the Dad. He was, as predicted. late for his own funeral, but there were country lanes involved, and to be fair, it wasn’t a funeral as such but a woodland burial at that point, just five people present apart from The Professionals. He got a dam’ good fly-past though, thanks to Exercises. And I was a bearer. We will gloss over me nearly falling down the 'ole.
but that is a very rambling preamble to a belated call to raise your glasses for St Patrick’s Day and, if you wish, to the late Dad, who was really rather splendid as dads go.
Slàinte mhaith.
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Gladly, Gus.
4 years today since I buried my Dad’s ashes in Ireland
That became quite a (2nd) send off too…
Cheers
Carinthia.xx
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All I can say is, never allow someone to say they want their ashes thrown into a large tidal river. Organising it so they won’t just sit on the mud sneering at you is a logistical nightmare, especially if the widower doing the throwing is unable to walk well and has to have a bridge to fling them from. Gloucester is definitely not in favour of anyone doing any such thing there, thank you very much, and there is nowhere to park a car on either of the Severn Crossings…
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Do they offer season tickets?
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Given the Hoolie blowing here again, Fishy, the Dear Departed would be blown straight back in yer face…
Sigh
In ‘my’ bit of rural Ireland cremation is unknown, so I had to make sure that the handsful of my parents was, erm, suitably presented…
And the bins are orff again
Carinthia.xx
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Ooo cheerful daisy and pretty violets
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BOGOF I believe.
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A young chap whom the Ma used to babysit, and who is trying to join the RAF - they sent him away and told him to join as Occifer, and that, bar a minor glitch as a result of a small astigmatism seems to be going well (I get the feeling that they WANT him) - turned up on the Ma’s doorstep, carefully leaving his boots outside, shortly after lunchtime. And left at quarter to six. Apparently they had the most spendid chat, occasionally interrupted by a tarting cat who loves Men.
Both this young fellow and his sister do drop in when home. OK, they get fed chocolate biscuits and cake and suchlike but the Ma is gradually coming round to the idea that in fact they rather like to sit and talk because The Ma. Hurrah! (The Ma is a great deal saner than their parents, who are Evangelical, and now slanting towards Cult, and very weird indeed). But it has fair bucked her up. And Cellarly fingers crossed, please, for young ____'s absorbtion into the RAF.
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Good morning all
Greasy fry ups for all who drowned the shamrock yesterday
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Aha! I didn’t, but stolen fry-ups are the sweetest. (Well, saltiest and greasiest anyway.)
yardarm
on a whitish-grey day.
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Many fingers crossed here, Gus.
Soo xx
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I am trying to write a shopping list for on line delivery
First available time
Saturday week!!!
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Twellsy, I suspect that some who have home deliveries could manage to shop for themselves, thus freeing up vans and personnel for people like you who really shouldn’t be exposed to that thing.
Soo xx
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The plan is: put the list in, then phone customer service, and see if there’s a “priority” service for those who do need it. We’ll see …
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