To be honest, I thought I would be a bit older before this happened; I mean that I would regard a funeral as a social occasion but look, there were extenuating circumstances. My sister came up from Cork late last night. Good and early this morning, we drove out of Dublin to Wicklow to attend the funeral of the wife of my father’s oldest living friend (96 and very sprightly – he and my father were friends for nearly 80 years). The funeral was, of course, very sad for the immediate family. It was a lovely service and both sons gave great speeches.
I was surprised to see a couple I knew in the congregation. It turned out that they were neighbours of one of the dead woman’s sons and, this being Ireland, the husband discovered during the course of the service, that she had actually taught him in school.
We sympathised, we chatted and then it was 11.30 on a beautiful day and my sister and I were both on a day off work and in Wicklow (the garden of Ireland, I’ll have you know). So we went to Powerscourt for a look round and a nice lunch and a long chat. God, I was delighted. You will recall that I was supposed to be in Cork at the weekend but my trip was cancelled due to a late Covid test result. I really didn’t think I would be seeing my sister so soon and for such a pleasant day out.
She dropped me home, tried (and failed) to light the Aga and headed back to Cork. I welcomed the boys home from school and sat down to read the paper. A friend from work called with news that a re-organisation is imminent. He, alas, is being moved and maybe me too for all I know, I will find out more tomorrow. Mildly unsettling.
And in Covid news, it looks like things are going backwards again and case numbers are up. And antigen tests are in. And nightclubs and bars are to close at midnight (to be honest, not a huge deal for me). Alas.