Ship Ahoy

The church was full, everyone paying respects to the old lady.

We were front row.

She’d chosen her own hymns and was probably up there casting a postmortal critical eye on the pedestal of her favourite floral colours my wife had created. She’d have loved it all.

My job was sourcing an ancient music hall recording, her choice, which I did. I played it over and over.

As we walked out behind her coffin the music was playing. I couldn’t stop myself singing along out loud. ”All the nice girls love a sailor...”

Well... she’d wanted it to be fun.