Tonight’s barbecue was steak. The children had burgers because they prefer them, but they are proper butcher-made burgers, not some mass-produced nonsense with cereal fillers in them. When Ro arrived home, he said that he wasn’t very hungry and a steak would be a bit wasted on him, so he had burgers too.
Ro is taken out to lunch by his bosses every Friday. They like a meal out and, as he’s their only employee, he goes with them. They would like to employ someone else, but they haven’t found anyone else as good as Ro (this is true, not proud-mummyishness; I’m not saying that there is no one as good as Ro, but that he fits into the company very well) so they just all work hard. Today, they went to an Indian restaurant and the portions were generous (as are Ro’s employers) and he was hungry. He works late on Fridays to make up for the long lunchtime; they don’t ask him to but he wouldn’t take advantage, of course.
There are going to be two funerals at the local church next week – I’ll be playing the organ for both of them. One is for a lady, in her 90s, whose husband died more than 30 years ago (he was considerably older than she and did not die prematurely) and she will be buried with him in the double grave. The gravedigger hoped that he’d be able to bring in his small mechanical digger, but the Sage said he’d phoned to tell him he was afraid it would have to be a hand job. A hand job takes a long time and is hard work, he explained.
Dilly and I caught each others’ eyes and snorted with laughter. The Sage didn’t understand why.
The other funeral is for David whom I mentioned a few days ago. We’re busily harvesting produce from his garden for Al to sell; it is in respect and friendship to his memory that we don’t want to let it waste and his family have a lot of other clearing up to do. Dilly and I will go along at 8 tomorrow morning, pick flowers and lettuces, then go and drop them off at the shop, pick up the carpet cleaner from our cousins whose business includes letting out such equipment and be home by 9 to relieve the Sage, who will have been babysitting, to tell the Polish people what needs to be done.
“Walker says you’re a cancer; I just think you’re a ‘flu.” Crying Drunk, by the Old 97’s (sic). Is it any wonder that I love ’em? Add that to “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have designs on you” and “I won’t tell a soul except the people in the nightclub where I sing” – Designs on You – and you won’t be surprised that I play them over and over. Fabulous. The guitar riff on Stoned would be enough to win me over in any case.