On May 14 one of my
Facebook Friends posted something about wine. He wrote "Cheap
wine is good! It reminds me why I pay that bit extra. Wine is a
living, breathing creation. It should not reek of sulphides and other
chemicals. It should not be homogenised, acidic or a means to an end.
It should be unique, reminding one of geography and history. It
should explode in the mouth, should taste of sunshine and nature and
love, and bring a smile to the face." Over last weekend
whilst we were camping I had a glass of wine with him. I had ben
looking forward to tasting a wine he recommended. It was a nice
enough wine, but in all honesty I couldn't taste any difference
between that expensive red wine and the bottle we had last night
which cost £3.80 from Morrison's cheapo section.
A glass or two of plonk
is usually somewhat soporific; but I did wake with a start when
"Furry Face TM" had a woofing fit
at 2.55am. I then dozed fitfully before giving up trying to sleep at
5.30am. Over brekkie (much of which was eaten by my dog) I
watched a documentary about new recruits joining the Royal Marine
Commandoes. I sometimes think I would like to have been in the armed
forces... but re-read that. The operative phrase is "have
been". I don't think I would actually have liked it at the
time.
To work where I did a
little work. We spent much of the time waiting for a phone call from
the school; a colleague had sent her five year old off to school in
fancy dress to comemmorate World War One. The children were supposed
to go as soldiers or refugees. This lad had gone in his Spider-Man
costume.
I came home early, and we
set off to Hawkinge. Today was Malcolm's funeral. The afternoon
started with an open-air burial which was surprisingly well attended.
A short but moving service in glorious sunshine.
From the cemetery we
adjourned to our old church in Folkestone for a service of
remembrance. There was over one hundred and fifty people in
attendance there. The service was really well done; led by an old
friend. I was Best Man at the vicar's wedding some twenty five years
ago. Over the years we've rather lost touch, but it was good to catch
up again.
There was a wonderful
spread in the church hall, and we sat and chatted and remembered
Malcolm. A brief toast to him was had in the garden of the Royal
Cheriton Hotel over the road from the church, and then we said our
goodbyes.
"Furry Face TM"
needed a walk, so this evening we took him on a circular stroll round
Ivychurch on the Romney Marsh. By an amazing co-incidence our route
took us past a couple of geocaches. One was actually good fun;
however the other was a utter disgrace, the sort of thing which gives
the hobby a bad name.
And so home. "Furry
Face TM" now needed a bath. Over a rather
good omelette we watched "Hoarding: Buried Alive".
That program bothers me. It can only be a matter of time until our
house is that bad.
I shall start throwing
things away...
No comments:
Post a Comment