A CRACKING DO

Like exhausted bagpipes, flopped on a chair, remains of a wreath leaning against an unused door, the plant half dead, desperately half alive; breathe, breathe, water please. Hell, not that much, choke! The chair, a picture of destitution, beyond help; unless someone had some superglue.

I could leave it there, but I'll be honest; the wheels of slighty mad minds turned and fused, so.....

Hellonwheels and I "did lunch", but unfortunately we turned up at the local hostelry in the midst of a pre-funeral wake. Once the mourners had left I was able to order our meal. And excellent it was, to be recommended if anyone is on their way to the Yorkshire Dales. Give me a nod, and I'll give you directions; it was truly scrumptious and fantastic value for money.

Backtracking though, on the way to the hostelry we had noticed a hearse, laden, at rest in a layby. They were surely (I hoped) not having a fag break. So it seemed that "to be laid to rest", laid to rest a fair while on an A road layby, whilst coffee was partaken and the troops gathered. It was near the golf club so maybe the deceased had been a member and had requested the "pause for fond memories" pause. Whatever, I'm sure it must be difficult for funeral directors to time the occassion to perfection.