The day after the day before

I woke up to bird song and the sound of Danielle's crotchty old cockrel.  I woke up with a clear head and a kind of calm.  I can't actually remember going to bed but knew that the calmness came from a day of love and remembrance and weird tears and laughter.

I recomposed the day before in my head as I rummaged in my bag. Astonishingly there were several 20 euro notes, two full packets of Gauloises and a heart shaped lollypop.

I made some tea, went back to bed and recomposed some more. 

There was the old farm house which is now the crematorium.  We arrived early and crashed the tail end of an earlier ceremony (young people no doubt there for a young person who shouldn't have died).  We stepped carefully around them with respectful nods in their direction.

There was Scottish Andrew in his kilt and with his pipes.

There was the registrar who oscillated between solemnity and flirtatiousness and asked, between moments of paperwork,  if Andrew was wearing knickers.

There was the moment when people who didn't like each other buried the hatchet.

There was the moment when the registrar told us that there was a delay because the police who had to be present at the closing of the coffin but had been called out on une intervention.  Andrew tuned his bagpipes and saw us all through the wait.

Then there was all of Bobby's life spread out in front of us.  All his journeys and all he loved and then there was Cleo Laine singing He was Beautiful. 

Then there was Andrew, The Scottish Charon, accompanying his friend Bobby on his last journey with Amazing Grace and Auld Lang syne as the coffin turned on it's axis and slid into the furnace accompanied by a Cuba Libre in a paper cup.

Then there was Lynda's dad on the steps of the crem, snorting into his handkerchief and chiding me for making an old Yorkshire man cry for a man he'd never met.

Then there was Atmospher, the old terasse and Zoo and Martine in charge.  Rayan stood up and cried while we kissed.  Then the whole of Bobby and my French life came together in a melt of years.

Then I went to bed, mysteriously.  I don't know how.

Good night Bobby.  

Signed Marmelade

There