pull on your bra panties over the knee socks..
Don't forget..a white shirt black tie and black shoes..
Remember your mother's words always carry a clean hankerchief in your pocket.
Remember to...Your Old English engrained by family up bringing...respect,stiff
upper lip no tears look at the floor look at the ceiling read every written word on
the walls of the chapel but at all costs do not break however tragic the day.
Ready put me on..
There are three thoughts which tell one is advancing down the last nine yards of life...sat in a barbers chair...taking a passport photo, pulling on a suit, all three highlight your face to the extend if one could climb all over them then mountains of lines etched on the skin would indeed be a trek. recently the first two were performed with the most shocking the passport picture matched against old pictures the words Dear God..are expressed naturally without even a thought....
Today was the third, the suit...the suit does not belong to me..i belong to the suit....i pulled it out this morning dusted off the shoulders it smiled flexed the arms shook the legs whisperd got yer...as it slipped over me as a strangled plastic shrink wrapped bag i only just remembered how to wear a tie...the shoes are 40 years old and have never been rehealed or what ever...
The day was a typical Manchester basin day low dank grey cloud a hint of rain in the cool air road traffic that could strangle all thought of the word joy of the open road...destination Southern Crem...Manchester. time 12 Noon.
I arrived early it is simply my way i like to chill gather my thoughts on how over the years this person grew on me..i do not think i have ever seen any sadness in the eyes, never heard a grumble, loved a glass loved to dance... and always stayed up through the night on new years eve. A walk around the memorial garden was a shock in the mountain of memories hung, as teddy bears scarfs from football clubs, dug into, placed, around the grounds.
Her nick-name was " Muldoon with tits..."..simply because she had a brother called Muldoon....and nothing else,had she simply passed away after a long and eventful life you could whisper to yourself wow....but to fall down the stairs after perhaps one glass to many crash head long into a stair lift kept only alive by a machine...for a number of weeks before the switch was flicked...These are the times i do not believe in GOD..perhaps a childish thought....The service was modern, A lady minister whom only talked about her life with the only faith part the lords Prayer and two songs chosen by the family forty minutes for a life time.....Selfishly...i thought of the good times i had known her,my thoughts drifted to else where as the records echoed around the chapel..the writings on the wall..were of people whom had passed along this way each plaque with an age made me rage within about the british govenment quite why is not for this old ladies memory..and i asked myself if my family is quite strange or simply normal for all those that have passed there are no stones, hanging teddy bears..wreaths, postcards, hoiliday banners, photo's you would not know it had even walked the planet....unless my father has changed his mind...embeded in me are his words put me in a card board box take me to the local tip..i recall on his service Dog Tags..the word agnost..
The service was a real tribute..it was good to see all the family how we have all aged when kids talk to you and they are now 40...you think WTF...and smile hug and have a few beers..and i hope the suit retreats in side the wardrope and next time comes out for a better day.....Life is...SO GOETH