I got to the church just before they took the coffin in. I totally know where I get my habit of cracking jokes at funerals now. Both parents >:( I had one on either side of me so they kept leaning across in front of me to whisper things to try & make each other laugh. Then Dad spent most of the funeral pointing people out to me. 'You see that woman? Her father was the altar server when we got married. You see that guy? His brother died on hunger strike.' Mum: 'Stop pointing at people!'

Oh, and we have a stuttering priest now. First we had the senile one with the unintended Father Jack impression, then the young Polish one who didn't speak english & spent the week after the Pope died in tears, & now one who stutters. God evidently likes long Masses.

Afterwards we all went to the Parish Centre, & I was under a roof with every single person in the country who could possibly say 'I remember you when you were this big!', & also some over from Ireland. We ended up sitting next to my dad's sister's husband's brother's wife. Yeah, ino. She lives here & he lives in Ireland. Apparently it is a very happy marriage. I sort of tuned them out, but I wish I hadn't since I caught the phrase 'Her husband was a big man, but he didn't last very long...' Maybe I don't want to know.