I’m in Reading now, with Tim’s brother and sister-in-law. Tomorrow, we’ll look at his records, books, photos and so on. It won’t be easy for any of us. I will also pick up Tim’s ashes from the funeral directors, and those words were not easy to type.
I have thought about what I’ll do with them. For the moment, nothing. Later, I will take some to Pembrokeshire, because that’s the place he loved most. I’ll leave a handful on Tim’s Rock. That it’s Tim’s rock doesn’t mean it’s not exclusive to him. It’s AnyMan’s Rock (no significance in Man, which is inclusive of all ages and every gender of anyone’s choice or birth). The rest, in its wooden box, will probably be buried in the churchyard next to Russell. There was no rivalry between Tim and Russell, who met and were friendly. I’ll be buried in the same churchyard, I’d like to be with both of them.
Enough of that. I’m not the macabre sort.
My satnav has taken to telling me of all the possible sitings for speed cameras on the M25. There certainly are plenty of them, though not quite as many as the satnav worries about. It’s a clever move though, traffic was noticeably more within the speed limit than it usually is (I’ve a feeling that isn’t very good English, but it’s 11pm and I’m tired). Mostly, driving is pretty good, though one Porsche was being driven at a high speed, weaving illegally between lanes to overtake and undertake, really quite dangerously. A Peugeot came along soon after, being driven with similar recklessness and less power. I moved over, with no interest in being involved.
My neighbour here visited a dying friend today. She has power of attorney and may soon be asked to make a decision about further treatment. The horse still scratches its innocent behind on the same patient tree. We are tiny, minuscule scraps in this world, but each of us still matters to ourselves and to those who care for us.