Narnia | Part Six of The Death Strand | Lost | Saw

Smashing day yesterday – slight preparation for the first tutorial on Saturday – argh! – the took P to the Marina to see “Narnia – The Lion The Witch and the Wardrobe” – which was very good (with a slight reservation on the child playing Lucy). Could have done with another hour and a couple of bits of dialogue grated for the forties. But very good. After, a meal and a little bit of shopping with P, home and L and I watched the first episode of Series 2 of Lost – the opened hatch! Lost is fabulous. As if this weren’t enough cinetelevisual goodness for one day, L and I then settled down to watch “Saw” on the DVD. Great nonsense like Seven, serial killer extravagance. Super!

Now, more death diary:
Everything is less-than-blissful. Retreat inward, collapse, hermit-shell-like convex insulation. Do not pass go, do not go anywhere, do not puncture or incinerate, police line do not cross. Blissful. Retreat. Last night, new year’s eve, we got Pip up at 11pm in order to see in the new year (2006). We had a jolly time out on the decking at midnight watching the fireworks, letting off a confetti bomb donated by L’s work, and banging pots and pans. This is a tradition I am led to believe by my friends that I made up myself, but I’m sure it’s a real thing – it will catch on anyway, you’ll see…. I am a nothing, I am fading away, lazy, gentle, and FUNERAL PREPARATIONS – try onwhite shirt and dust off suit, etcetera.

And so I / we return to sleepless nights (its 06:30 on the morning of the interrment – I wole to my usual night terrors – money, job, “THE FUTURE” in general; I grabbed some clothes in order to go and pace downstairs and noticed that P’s light was on – she was wide awake, too). We had a good old chat – the pure loveliness of chatting to my daughter and leaving my sleeping wife in bed took the edge from my despair somwhat, but didn’t stop the need for Solpadeine, please please let me sleep tonight.

After the funeral. Pip and Mumsie had a good enough time; we returned around 3pm or so, the wooden box is 6 feet under. The hole was neatly excavated by a digger; the vicar was Chinese, he said “Hawad is in p*ss noa“, the service was in church; outside it was raining. After the service there were “nibbles” at the soon to be not in the family any more house. In the church was a small stained glass panel which was removed from the original Methodist Chapel upon the site of which the house was built, to a (eulogised at the funeral) design by my father (the man himself) – the actual Methodist Chapel which featured as the focus of the loony lay preacher in the original film version of Stella Gibbons’ “Cold Comfort Farm” (1968, dir. Peter Hammond). Today, a lay preacher (relative of my great-aunt) aged wither 91, 92 or 93 years depending on who you talked to) gave a loony reading at the service.
I couldn’t really concentrate at the service – Wun Hung Lo’s drone was putting me to sleep as I simultaneously tried to stop myself from sneezing due to the vast floral display I had been jammed up against by the over-eager “funeral guy“.
I will end this now. I have, curiously, been very tearful.


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