15st 3lb, 5.0 units. I don’t know what it was that depressed me yesterday. As funerals go, it was right up there with the best I have ever attended. Perhaps it was the calculation that, when I first met him, Len must have been almost exactly the age that I am now; and it seems like yesterday. That and the fact that I had not got to know him better when I had the chance. Plus regrets at having to miss the no doubt excellent “refreshments” at the Golf Club afterwards, as I had committed myself to driving back to Cheshire in time for supper. Although the dinner party originally planned for the evening had to be cancelled owing to The Baby’s rotten cold and Mrs H’s consequent exhaustion.
Whatever the reason, by the time I had covered the 235 miles to my home in the North West I was about as cheery as a North Sea fisherman teetering on the brink of financial ruin, who has just hauled in his nets to find that they contain some old fridges, an assortment of big turds and a Second World War mine that has just started ticking ominously. I have to hand it to Mrs H, though. At no point did she suggest that I might like to get into the car and drive back again.
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