Farewell to Aunts


Name that Tune: “Weary as you lay at night waiting for the sun, planning out tomorrow now before this day is done” – Gillian, The Waifs 

 Movie Quote of the Day:     “I think you are a very bright, very special woman” – Pretty Woman 

 Had a day off today to attend my Auntie’s funeral in the Boro.  Sad times indeed.  She had been ill for some time and died last Sunday. 

We drove over last night so we could be there all systems go for the service today at 1240.  Decided, as we were ready early enough that we may as well take some flowers up to put on Bman’s dad’s grave up at the crem, so set off for a detour to Aldi to see if they had any nice flowering plants. 

 Aldi is opposite the magistrates court, the steps of which were festooned with trackydak clad young offenders and pram face teenage girls taking their wairns for a day out to watch dad/uncle/grandma (delete as appropriate) get sentenced. 

    So there we were, all suited and booted looking as if we were awaiting sentence ourselves (or applying for a divorce) and just popping in to Aldi for a bit of an adjournment snack.  No pot plants to speak of but naturally we had to have a bit of a mooch seeing as we were there (it would have been rude not to).  I came out with a 3litre box of Shiraz to take to Moorfest, 2 packs of my favourite mushroom antipasti filled with cream cheese and a bottle of probiotic breakfast milkshake.  Bman bought 2 packs of Reeses Peanut Butter Cups and a Baseball bat and ball (Truly – could you make this up??) 

 “What’s with the baseball bat?” I asked.


“You should always be prepared for the Zombie Apocalypse” says he.  (Has he been reading The Bloggess I wonder?)


“Fair enough” I say: “You fight them off while I drink the wine and eat stuffed mushrooms from a safe vantage point”

 Thank god we didn’t see anyone we knew as we walked across the carpark with our loot.  “Hey! Long time, no see, what are you up to?”  “Just off to a funeral as it goes mate, can’t stop, got to put the wine and baseball bat in the boot”

As we still had to get a flowering plant of some description we headed to Sainsbury’s.  Bman made the purchase and off we set with 15 minutes to spare.  As we pulled out of the carpark we saw my friend’s dad running down the street in a pink T-shirt carrying some kind of manbag and clearly in a hurry to be somewhere.

 “I thought he’d be going to the funeral” says Bman.  “He’s running in the right direction” says I: “Should we offer him a ride?”. 

 Bman digested this thought for a few moments; by which time we had driven past him.

 “He’s still running” I note, straining backward to see him catching us up.  “I reckon we should crank down the window and shout him

 “Doesn’t look dressed for a funeral though” comments the Bman “He goes running doesn’t he? Maybe he’s just out for a run?”. 

 “Who the feck goes running down the High Street with a manbag, jeans and pink T shirt on?” Says I. 

By this time I am half in and half out of the back seat knocking child seats onto the floor and trying not to damage the bouquets of funeral flowers and calling out “Wind the bloody window down and offer the man a ruddy lift FFS!”.

Just as we were catching him back up (as by this stage he had overtaken us as we queued at the lights) we saw him jump into a waiting car driven by his wife which promptly drove off back all the way up the road he had just run down…

 As we arrived at the crematorium we pulled up beside him & his wife. He was neatly attired in black trousers, white shirt and black waistcoat: – “Got changed in the car eh?” we smirked.

 So we got there by the skin of our teeth just as they were carrying in the coffin.   Went to stand beside my sister and asked where my brother was.  In hushed whisper she says: “Long story, he’s in the car, he’s been throwing up all the way here – don’t say anything to dad!”

Nice! Classy Dude!

I wasn’t sure what to do with the flowers so slipped them into the back of the hearse as discreetly as I could before we went to take our seats.

 The service was very nice and nobody laughed or farted at inappropriate moments as sometimes happens at these things.  

 My favourite part was when my cousin’s young baby in the pram started babbling “blah blah blah blah blah” just after the Vicar lady person had asked us all to bow our heads quietly and contemplate our own thoughts.  

 If she’d been there I reckon Aunty Jill would have liked it.  She had a decent turnout & some nice flowers and you can’t ask for more than that I don’t think.  Afterward we had sandwiches and drinks at the pub down the road, which being the nearest one for miles probably does a roaring trade in black clad  red-eyed customers and I can’t help cynically thinking that this may have been a major selling point at the bank when the loan application was put in for whoever it was who first thought to build it up there.

 After that we went to my other Aunties for more tea and some strawberries and cream.  My brother suitably recovered by this time to stomach a cup of tea and some light family banter.

I was appalled that in a lounge full of male relatives, when I stuck my head round the door and noticed a lovely photo of A on the wall when she was about 12 months old and said “Awww look at my little baby A”.  They all said “Ooooh that’s who it is, we couldn’t work out who it was” and this included the Bman and my Pops.  Shame on you both for not recognizing your own child/grandchild.  She’s only 5 now so it wasn’t that long ago!

 In the famous words of the late great Aunty Jill: Men! – I shit ‘em!

 Bless you Jill – may you be drinking shitloads of tea and cranking up the fire to full blast and not being in any pain any more, wherever you may be.

 Much love.  Xxx





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