A time to weep, and a time to laugh

I attended my first-cousin-once-removed's funeral today in London. To be honest, I'd been dreading the trip from Paddington to Mayfair because I hadn't been to London for so long, and was nervous about meeting all the people I hadn't seen for about forty years, but none of my fears were realised. The buses were fine, I didn't get lost, London is roughly the same as it ever was, with fewer people, and mask-wearing. No one mistook me for a dithering country bumpkin.

The Catholic church at Mount Street was ornate, and beautiful. I'd like to go back there another day. My cousins had planned a beautiful service, with family participation, and an amusing, enlightening eulogy. It helped that my cousin Clare had written her autobiography ( as yet unpublished) which was sprinkled with eccentricity, and she had had the material good fortune to realise many of her dreams. Among other fundraising efforts, she helped to raise money for the people affected by the Biafran war and famine, an event I but dimly remember. Clare was many things, including 'a bit wild' at school; later known for being kind and thoughtful: a talented artist: all were agreed on that. Her four children were brought up in a highly unconventional fashion, even for the 1960s and 70s, but all were there today to mourn her passing.

Afterwards we went to a nearby hotel for a ...funeral drinks party! I broke my no-alcohol rule, for once. (It's interesting to me that, once my cousin Clare moved from being a hard drinking, chain-smoking Scottish society hostess in high heels to being an artist in Melbourne Australia, she gave up drinking, smoking, cooking AND wearing heels! She swam in the sea in all seasons with her second husband, and was a volunteer lifeguard).

To my surprise, I thoroughly enjoyed meeting all the long lost acquaintances, including Ch, who's about to head off to Costa Rica, and P, who was briefly at school with me in the 1970s. What we all had in common was the shared memories of wild times at Clare's family home in Fife, Scotland. That extraordinary house, which was erroneously described by Jules Verne as 'Oakley Castle' was sold in the 1980s when Clare and her first husband Thomas divorced, and is now divided into several properties. We can't turn back time, and even if we could, it might not be as much fun as we'd expected, but we can still remember the best of times and the worst of (drunken) times spent there in the 1960s, 70s and early 80s.

The return journey was uneventful. My cousin T pressed some flowers on me, so I played with a phone-shot on the train, because I don't like taking photos at funerals.
I'd have liked to spend a whole weekend in London, but I was in the middle of running a market stall, so have to report for duty early tomorrow morning. CleanSteve held the fort for me today, and picked me up at the station.