Matty has been in TV heaven this past two days. It started yesterday with the funeral of the Holy Father and then there was Ken and Deirdre's wedding in Coronation Street. Today she had the Charles and Camilla Wedding and the Grand National. I watched the Grand National with her. I was shouting for Clan Royal and Tony McCoy because Tony started his career up the road at the late Billy Rock's place. Matty, being deaf, did not realise that Tony was out of the race until it was over. That is a terrible affliction because it is so hard to keep up with what's going on. Vancouver brother told me that himself, the mother and Rube were in Ditty's of Dawson City the other day. She's well known in there ever since the day I ended up hoking through their bins for my false tooth. And of course coming in there accompanied by two handome fellows had the friendly, chatty one straight over to her. The chatty one tells me ma, "Y'know I buried my husband the other week?" Matty beams up at her and says "Och, that was nice for you."
Poor Matty has been through the mill recently. Last week she had a very horrid procedure (an angiogram) carried out to determine what was causing her frequent angina attacks. The finding was that one of her arteries was 'just fine', another 'not too bad" and a third was 90% blocked. After a hard day at the hospital, which included lots of lifestyle and dietary advice, she returned home starving and requested an Ulster Fry. Which was cooked up and served by the Vancouver brother whose skinny arse, I proposed, should be taken out to the yard and given a damn good kicking.
She was a bit wrecked for a few days afterwards although it didn't stop her going out jaunting with Vancouver brother and his stepson Rube. Matty loves Rube. They met about twenty years ago when Rube was three. She made quite a pet of him and used to carry him around distracting him from his tantrums with stories and silly talk. She'd have a job carrying him now that he's 6'4" and built like a brick shithouse. When Rube stands next to Vancouver brother he makes the bro look like a wimp even though Vancouver bro's just an inch short of six foot.
But to get back to the Papal funeral. I only saw the tiniest bit of it as I was at work. I did like the coffin because it looked so unassuming and simple. I had a yarn about it with Hans from the garage,
"Aye, but it's big."
"Aye, but the papal vestments and the tall hat..,"
"Wonder what it's made of?"
"Wood from the true cross...?"
"You wooden know."
Turns out it was cypress. Kerry sister (the carpenter) will have noticed the big dovetail joints. Turns out it goes inside a hermetically sealed zinc coffin which is encased in an outer cedar coffin. Not so simple after all. But still - have to beware the sale of relics ending up on Ebay.
Which brings me to this. I want a simple coffin. No walnut veneers or brass handles thank you very much. I want an ecopod and, if it can be arranged, a woodland burial. If I must end up in a municipal graveyard then so be it but I'd prefer the corner of a field. Speak to the forestry people and see if the grant Bert gets for the native tree plantation would be affected by placing Nelly, in her deadness, among them. But bear this in mind future heirs - a grave on the plot has to, by law, be brought to the attention of future buyers.
If you can plant a tree on my grave I want it to be a mountain ash. I want none of your fancy Sorbus 'Joseph Rock' or 'vilmornii'. A plain rowan dug out of Drumkeeran moss will do me fine.