Great Uncle Godfrey
The last entry was a bit of a bummer, wasn't it? Well I think it's only fair that this time around I should be a little more "up", so here's a tale of derring do from the family archives!
This is a little story about one of my living relatives, my wicked Great Uncle Godfrey. He's not really wicked, but I liked the sound of it. Godfrey is 88 years old, has a splendid handlebar moustache and always wears a cravat (to catch the burning embers that fall from his pipe) and a tweed jacket. Never wear a tweed jacket in the rain, they smell of sheep p**s (handy hint no. 172 from Monza Gorilla's book of handy hints) and no amount of spilt whisky will cover that up. He has a portrait of himself hanging over the fireplace, and has had 12 prints made so that the whole family may enjoy his likeness in years to come. Some (or many) years ago Godfrey's mother (my great grandmother) sadly died. And there was a funeral and everyone remembered what a lovely old thing she was, with her wobbly head and her incredibly heavy cakes (any more dense and they'd have been black holes). And then there was the cremation. And then there were the ashes. What to do with the ashes? Godfrey hatched a plan and so, aided and abetted by his four sons, events unfolded. Godfrey's father is buried in the local cemetery so, very, very late one night the conspirators gathered at the gates. While one stood guard the others entered the cemetery armed with great Granny's ashes and a shovel. Under the moonlight a hole was dug, and great Granny was reunited with great Grandad. I'm not sure if any of the party were wearing top hats and capes but it would have been appropriate. Was it legal? Probably not, but so what? It was a brilliant idea well executed. Good on you Godfrey.
More next time