Over the Hill and Far, Far Away

When I was little my pet goldfish died. Mum told me it had gone to live over the hill. The hill seemed far away; I wondered how the goldfish managed to get there.

Lots of people we knew ‘went over the hill,’ usually without much notice. This was inevitably followed by The Party, which they never even turned up to.

When I was eight my great grandmother slipped on her way to the butcher’s van and was impaled on her own walking stick. We saw her in the coffin. I asked:

‘Is this how people sleep over the hill, mummy?’