Family Affair.

16 Jul

Funerals are weird things.

Or rather, circumstances surrounding funerals are weird.

We barely get to see any of our extended family, considering we’re down in the very south of the country and most of them are way up towards the north, so whenever we do get together, it’s normally for a wedding or a funeral.

This means that most of my aunts and uncles haven’t seen me for upwards of 8-10 years, so it’s a real wonder that any of them recognise me. After all, I was a short, dumpy blonde haired child with jam jars for glasses back then. Now I’m still short, and still dumpy, but I’m ginger and reclaimed a tiny bit of style with my dark glasses.

Actually, once I put it like that, it’s unsurprising that people know who I am.

I’ve warned Mum tomorrow that she’s going to have to act as my human Filofax tomorrow, aiming a sharp elbow to my ribs every time someone approaches us and I have no idea who they are, a bit like the Queen does (I imagine) at every royal engagement.

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