I realise I sound like a right Johnny Holidays as it's only been a couple of weeks since Norfolk (and I still dream of that hummingbird moth!) but this trip is with Ollie's mum, and at present it is imperative we holiday separately with her from Ollie's sister, since the two of them haven't spoken since that merry Christmas Day of 2020 (the one we spent in lockdown). But that is a tale for another day!

Frank's funeral was everything it should have been. There were about 100 people there! A sad, touching and beautiful service, even with his baffling choice of songs (inc. "I'm so Lonesome I Could Cry"). He had a woodland-themed wreath on top of his coffin (he loved biking in Thetford forest), funny and moving tributes from his sons and his granddaughter; it was heart-warming and breaking at the same time. And a cracking wake at a really nice pub, excellent buffet and drinks, which meant we could catch up with people properly. We were there til closing time.

The worst bit of the day itself was the 25-minute drive to the crematorium for the service, with me, my mum and brother and Ollie crammed into our Fiesta (Leo had a little one-night stay at his auntie's). I felt sick to my stomach and wondered why I hadn't thought to take a beta blocker or something, even though mine all expired ages ago and I chucked them away. But no other part was as hard as that bit, even when I sat in his chair the following morning, while everyone else was still asleep, and just sobbed.

Doing a bit better currently, but I've felt first-hand now the way grief lurks, mildly and inoffensively at times, then swoops in and pounces. However I have Ollie and Leo, and I had some work this week, and I am cosy and comfortable in my home at this moment in time.

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