A Pincushion

A friend wanted to go to the funeral of a colleague we'd worked with back in the 1990s so I picked her up and went along to keep her company.  I'm pleased I went because, although it was a totally unreligious funeral, it was the story of her life, a lot of which was written by Joyce before she died. 

We didn't go to the Wake but went instead to Waitrose for a cuppa and a natter, on the way out bumping into someone else who'd known Joyce all those years ago but didn't know she'd died.

Back home and time for a quick blip.  Then there's dinner to prepare before JJ and I head over to MK for an "Olympus" evening, where I'm hoping I'll be able to get to grips with focus stacking at the very least.