Dust to Dust
Another story has come to an end.
There has been a death in the family.
I mean a real one, in the real-life family.
But why is it easier to shed tears over the fictional tragedies than over the actual ones?
I'm OK. No flowers, please. Do not adjust your set. Normal service will be resumed as possible.
Meanwhile I will be in my car, playing 'Dust Bowl Dance' very very loudly and singing along.
All together now: 'So collect your courage, and collect your horse / And pray you never feel the same kind of remorse...'
That feels so good... but I must say the old bloke crossing the road outside the post office this morning didn't half give me a funny look as I drove by.