In my studio

 
“Intimations of immortality”
Wordsworth
 
Yesterday M and a close friend of mine had this conversation:
“What do I do with Ann’s stuff if anything happens to her?”
 
My friend, noted for her pragmatism replied:
“Get a supply of black plastic bags and take it to the local charity.”
 
I am not amused.
 
But it reminded me of a story my father used to tell in rural Wales.
 
“ Dai the Pont was dying. One day he shot up in bed: 
“Gwen, I fancy some of that ham” he said pointing to the side of ham hanging from the  bedroom ceiling.)
 
“Dai bach! You can’t have that. We’re  keeping it for your funeral.”
Quite.
 
And for the record, I am back in my studio.