Family Funeral

I wore my long, black, leather Gestapo coat to the funeral. It's big enough for two Gestapo officers to fit snugly inside. I didn't know anybody there- apart from the crew I went with. Ailz remembers her Uncle Dave as a violent drunk, but the priest was going on about a family man who loved fishing- so maybe there'd been some sort of a conversion experience in the course of the past thirty years. 

It's mostly people from the immigrant communities who get buried these days. The graves in Uncle Dave's sector all bore African or Carribean or Eastern European names. Us Anglos prefer to go up in smoke. 

My mother-law wittered all the way there and all the way back. She's a great fund of useless, and mainly out of date information. If she were ever on Mastermind her specialist subject would be The Bus Routes of Greater Manchester.