Poor Taste.

I have many friends, for which I'm grateful; most of them are cyclists, beekeepers or photographers. I meet them all regularly and, although I may not remember their names, I know them well: their likes and dislikes and their virtues and faults but, their daily life tends to be a closed book. I probably know more about my Blip friends' private lives,even though I have never met most of them. We're not hiding anything from one another, it's just that it's outside the normal range of conversation; nobody says, "I used the macro lens for this - oh, and my wife left me last Tuesday." Or "I'm going to try queen rearing this year and we're expecting our third grandchild in June." It comes to mind because I went to an old friend's funeral today; I've known him for years, a softly spoke man - but it was well worth paying attention when he was talking about bees though I never saw him push himself forward. And he had the gentlest hands I know, he could go through a colony of bees without them noticing; the only sign of intolerance I ever saw was him walking away from a demonstration because the bees were being ill treated.

Today I learned that he was a huntin' and fishin' type who trained his own gundogs and was also an accomplished operatic tenor. He married late in life and took on, not just a wife, but a significantly sized young family which he adored, and at an age when his peers would be thinking about grand-children.

After the service, I took a stroll around graveyard at the crematorium; I wouldn't want to be buried there; I like wandering through the traditional village churchyards, I always have done, they have a comfortable feel to them. This place had a lot of rubbish all over the place with dead flowers still in their wrappers. There were also all manner of inappropriate tributes to loved ones: the harp playing cherubs were pretty grim, but this "lovable" chap by an adult's memorial took the biscuit even though, as most of you will realise, I do like a joke.