Passing places

It's my mother's first anniversary, in the sense that it's one year since my jacket moved to the shoogly peg of being the oldest of my branch of the family. You certainly can't park in these passing places.
At least some family business was concluded this week. I've assigned my ownership of my father's grave in Warminster to my brother on the grounds that I neither want to lie under an English sod, nor next to one.