10 Oct, 2021

“Rumours of my death …

….have been greatly exaggerated”, as Mark Twain is often misquoted as saying.

An old friend from schooldays read the last blog entry and wrote today wondering if I’d already made the journey.  Obviously not.  I’m sorry if anyone else has been thinking that way.  I should have done another post as an update.

There’s more bureaucracy to get through, and I’ve still not asked for a date in Switzerland.  When it’s arranged I’ll say.

There’s also been a bit of banter with someone else, who said he’s always taken comfort from the biblical assurance “In my father’s house there are many rooms”, and he therefore assures me that “You will be most welcome at my family’s kitchen table for endless coffees, G&Ts, pâté, cheese & crackers & an eternity of warmth and affection.”

To which I replied, “ How generous. Do get out the ouija board and thank your ancestors for me.  Myself, I rather like the phrase that Trollope and other Victorians use: “When I am gathered to my fathers”.  I’m an only child, so there’s not much in the way of recent ‘family’, but there will be lots of Peace fathers going back over the centuries.  That could be VERY interesting.”

All mildly humorous, folks.  Let’s keep it light.

1 Comment

  1. Ha! Love the sound of that table. Hope mothers and scones too. And Libyan beers. And that’s just the kitchen.

    Oh, and (hoping this is still light in a way) was struck by the beauty in decay and death this sunny autumnal weekend – some photos from Dartmoor up close (didn’t attempt to capture the crazy bright stars tonight at the other end of the spectrum!) – https://photos.app.goo.gl/jBPV68WRZAfUvdHS8

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