Floral

Very late start. I woke at 6.30 and figured it was just a bit early to get up... But next time I woke it was 11... So I think I have definitely caught up now on lost sleep.

The main event scheduled into the day was the funeral for our neighbour's dad. In the UK I really can't imagine I would find myself at the funeral of a man I have never met, but here it seemed like the right thing to do. Mr B wasn't keen, and neither of us thought the kids should go (having heard too many tales of open coffins) and so I headed off on my own.

The service was at Graulhet, a neighbouring town I know a little so at least parking wasn't a problem. On arrival following the tolling bell seemed surer then the iPhone maps app. I had been prewarned about the condolence book - placed outside the church so the family has a record off all those who attend. The rain started falling so I checked with a kindly looking chap that it was right to wait outside for the hearse. He seemed somewhat disparaging of the 'lightweights' heading into the church early to get out of the rain so I stayed outside with him half-sheltering in a shoeshop doorway. The service was 45 minutes or so, and I sat at the back in a slightly separate set of pews. I had vague hopes that those pews were for non-Catholics, but it became clear that I was on my own!

I had been told that funerals are a relatively casual affair, dress-wise here, but I didn't 100% trust that, so wore a black suit with a shirt that I thought was quite muted but Mr B called too bright. I was one of two people with jackets on (apart from the pall bearers), but I suppose smart clothes are just the way we show respect in our culture. There were folk there in jeans and t-shirts, or strappy summer dresses - but however long I'm here, I don't think that will ever feel right to me. But then given the size of the congregation (250-300?) they can't all be close relatives or friends, so most folk had probably just ducked out of work for an hour to show their respects, and in that light I guess it's entirely right that you'd just come in whatever clothes you have on.

At the end of the service, with the rain from an extraordinarily loud thunderstorm still pouring down,there were dozens of older looking Portuguese woman crying and hugging so, never having met her, I decided trying to work out who was the widow to pass on my condolences was unwise. And so I sloped off. Having been spotted and hugged by my neighbours before the service, I'd shown the support I wanted to.

Home to check the Galaxy chocolate imported by Mr B hadn't suffered too badly in the car with negligible air con (we know how to pick them...) and you'll be pleased to hear it's in good shape. Briefly I had to hold a piece of wood in a straight line. Or as it turns out, not a straight line. But I think the wine cupboard has more problems than a slightly wonky bit of wood since Mr B has discovered a whole new world of pain in there with a rotten beam of uncertain purpose, and a relatively modern wall held up by (not joking) lathe and plaster. Steps will be taken. Mostly involving very chunky bits of wood.

Then a meeting with the wonderful (we hope) Omar who cleared out the Room of Requirements for us very efficiently, and will soon be bringing my shed closer to reality.

Twice cooked pork belly with TallGirl's fried potatoes for dinner, and the evening is heading in a very fine direction.