2007 — 14 November: Wet? Cold? Must be Wednesday!
It's actually just approaching midnight on Tuesday, and I probably ought to turn in. But I want (and need) to thank a few more people before I get swamped by today's upcoming bureaucracy and bank manager sessions. So, with Dona nobis pacem just finished thundering out of BBC Radio 3, a few more messages...
Thank you, to the truly amazing number of IBM colleagues who have contacted me. To Lesley and MikeP for calling round. To Peter for the meal at the Hilltop Café in Wiltshire (scene of our little Figsbury Ring adventure in happier days, and another 62.9 miles of useful practice!) To Shelagh for the chicken supper. And a very particular "thank you" to Graham, for telling me he is embarking on the same cancer journey I am now completing (which has given me the opportunity I need to offer a few words of comfort and help to start repaying some of the debt I owe to people who have been helping me).
Also (again) to Cathy G for a most helpful checklist of things to be done. And to my dear cousin Leigh for her wonderful phone call.
Hey, it's a new day
Time now (07:28) and I observe that these new days just keep on happening along. I forgot to remark, yesterday, on just how beautiful the autumn foliage looked on parts of the epic lunchtime drive down to and through the edges of Wiltshire. I never previously had much regard for autumn but I find it accords so well with my present mood1 of gentle melancholy... It was nice to spot the pair of Bambis, too.
I must say I wonder if today's post-breakfast attempt to pick up Christa's death certificate will lessen my continuing (mild) feelings of vague unreality. But the bank manager will probably bring me back to ground with a bump this afternoon! And/or the funeral director, who left a voicemail asking me to call him this morning. Nope. Just spoken to him; he wanted to reassure me that the coroner's involvement was the tiniest of glitches. But it does mean I still may not get the certificate today <Sigh>2
But Dr Joey has just phoned from the surgery to express sympathy and offer help. Christa was very fond of our young GP, and I was very pleased to pass on confirmation of Her affection, which was fully reciprocated. Right! Enough procrastination. Time to get dressed and up and at 'em.
Have you got a licence, sir?
Well, yes, I do actually. The coroner's office (having decided no inquest was needed) kindly faxed over details to the Registrar to make sure I could indeed pick up this all-important bit of paper and start things moving along. I have six copies of the blessed things (which would probably earn me a mild reproof3 from my Best Girl) though She always regarded UK bureaucracy as a very lightweight thing compared to the German equivalent, and could therefore never understand why I complained. (It's a good job we neither of us lived under the Cold War Soviet system.) The funeral director has his green form (I wonder if that's where Alan Bennett got his play title "Green Forms" from — I dare say it is), and I've just filled in the "BD8" for the chaps at the Department of Work and Pensions. And the "Stop junk mail" form for the Bereavement Register4 chaps, too.
On my current policy (life-long, so far, with no imminent need to change it either) of seeking amusement5 when and where the opportunity arises I'm faintly tickled (like Ken Dodd) to note that the Department of Dead People forms guys feel it needful to state explicitly on the "BD8" Only one certificate can be issued for any one death. This easily matches the standard of the message carefully stencilled on anti-personnel explosive devices: "This side towards enemy" don't you think? I always had a curious mental image of the stenciller going happily home after his day's work to his pipe and slippers.
Oh well, time to set off for Mr Bank Man, one death certificate clutched firmly to my bosom. "This side towards bank manager."
Where the heck have you been?
Well, it was so surreal being presented with a copy of Christa's previous will (from 1977) which appointed me sole Executor and Trustee, and then realising that when we both remade our wills in 2002 we'd actually decided to let the bank do all the grunt work... when I'd already managed to reduce Christa's financial life (or "estate" as the lawyer chappies seem to prefer) to a single neat sheet of A4 paper... that I simply had to clear my head with a 50+ mile trip down to Fordingbridge and back on a very (very) fast section of the A31 in the growing dusk. Tomorrow morning's driving lesson will doubtless shake loose any new bad habits before they become too entrenched.