Mourning Glory

Funeral yesterday. There is something profoundly wrong about sitting in a church for 45 minutes staring at the stained glass windows, and knowing that you are supposed to be feeling sad, but are actually feeling bored by the religious droning and have a numb arse.

It makes me wonder what the hell they are going to do with my body when I die, because I'm not having a bloody Christian service. What a screaming hypocrite that would make me.

But anyway, it was horrible and impersonal and generally nasty. I had to read what LotusMomma had written, and did so in my best chanelling-Rupert-Campbell-Black way with cut glass accent and a hint of arrogance. Everyone was staring in horror at my knee high boots and fashionable skirt, and even more so at my clean shiny hair. What can I say, sartorial elegance has not yet reached Wolverhampton...

But in a cloud/lining/silver kind of thing: once the will goes through probate etc etc etc I will be several thousand pounds better off, and able to start my MA through the OU, with any luck.

Now, I am aware this may all sound horribly insensitive. But we all have our own ways of dealing with things. And anyway, would you hate me any less if I lied and pretended the funeral was lovely and the money isn't important?