The Two of Us...

Funerals are, as to be expected, times of reflection and personal reappraisal, as yet another acquaintance, friend or family member departs one's orbit for the last time, at least in the corporeal sense. We managed to get to my brother-in-law George's funeral today, after a fraught drive down to Birmingham from North Wales this morning. The last funeral at Lodge Hill I attended was my mate Johnny Kyte [blog posts passim] which I only made by the skin of my teeth, then, just as they were closing the door on the chapel: a combination of roadworks and farm traffic on the more rural sections of the journey, and the hideously snarled-up roads around the Birmingham area conspiring to lengthen a three to three and a half hour journey to over four. Brummagem traffic is now as bad as London's: awful.

Today was no different, and the timing worse still. Well over four hours from Rachub to Brum, yet again: you'd think I'd learn, wouldn't you? We barely made it for the service and elected to stand at the back of the chapel for the duration. Anyway, frantic drive notwithstanding, we were there to witness his send off, and a lovely humanist service it was too. So many of those present were musician friends of George, who later played and sang at his wake. It would have been nice to have stayed to hear more, but we needed to get back on the road to stand any chance of getting back before dark, with the weather worsening as we headed northwest. It was good to catch up, all too briefly, with nieces, those left on George's side of the family, and of course, my little sis...