Holi-day
It'd been such a hard slog driving northwest. We were staying overnight and Mrs H's brother Steve was still battling his way from Gatwick. Time for a drink.
We drove to Parkgate, a lovely former port on the Dee estuary. We had our drinks on a terrace looking across to Wales. Driving-embattled Steve finally joined us; we would eat there together.
The weather was glorious and we were perfectly positioned for a sunset of breathtaking beauty. In less than 24 hours our holiday would be over, but there would be much laughter to come....
...oh, and a funeral inbetween.
- Category: True Stories Told As Fiction
3 comments add one below
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Neville Hunt almost 7 years ago
Thanks, Drew, I feel I'm treading a fine line, tastewise, but I strongly believe that funerals are for the living and, ironic as it may be, there is usually a lot of laughter around such a somber occasion, in this case engineered by the deceased, whose main characteristic was always fun. Even in January, the last time we saw her, she greeted us with with a joke and we left with a laugh. That's how to be remembered!
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Christopher almost 7 years ago
Indeed. I was cracking jokes at my grandfather's funeral. My way of coping with it, I guess. Great series, Neville.
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Neville Hunt almost 7 years ago
Thanks, Christopher.
