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Moving in a yellow bedroom light
Nov. 3rd, 2007 07:45 pmUp to Worcester via Evesham for Diane's funeral yesterday. There were about 100 people there, I would guess -- of whom a surprising number just turned up for the funeral. That was quite touching. I was told that even Marilyn, John Taynton's ex-wife, was there, although I hadn't seen her for a good 16 years, so I didn't recognize her. John Taynton once did a live broadcast for Midlands Radio from MidCon -- at which I believe Mr Doubleday (P) made a contribution, although perhaps my memory is playing tricks on me.
It was nice to talk to Di's relatives from Peterborough; I hadn't met most of them before. Her old friend Ian, who used to work in The Nightiongale, drove up from Devon. Jan, who used to work with Martin and Di and Stuart's Kitchens, and who later worked with Di at the BBC club, did all the food (at "Eggwins", which is what the BBC Club is now officially called), and it was predictably excellent.
Stuart's half-brother (Martin's son by his first marriage) was there, although Martin himself was not. Stuart quite clearly can't see it himself, but Stuart and half-brother are far more like brothers than they do half-brothers -- personality-wise as well as looks-wise.
As I suspect Diane would have wanted, it wasn't a grim affair. In a valiant show of anti-current-PC, nearly everyone on Di's side of the family likes a cigarette, making various outside refuges popular places.
Although it was a saddening occasion, I didn't come back feeling depressed - more melancholy and reflective. My non-belief in God is fairly aggressive; there are no straws of faith to clutch at. Life is randomly bad or good to people who are bad or good. Di was good and life was randomly bad to her. So it goes.
When I arrived back in London I decided, since it seemed to be a day for memories, to wander down Craven Passage and have a look at the Ship and Shovel, one of my old haunts from the mid-1980s. Some of you may remember the pub as a dingy little local used only by people working in that little village underneath Charing Cross Station, that small block bounded by Villiers Street and Craven Street that in the mid-1980s was an odd place where ebberyone who worked there seemed to know each other.
No longer. The place was heaving. And the brewery (Hall & Woodhouse?) had turned what used to be an old shop opposite the pub into an extension of the pub itself. This was a cunning move in the light of the smoking ban, because that made the passageway a "part" of the pub. But one that you can smoke in. Shrewd.
But why now "The Ship and Shovell"? What's the extra 'l' all about?
It was nice to talk to Di's relatives from Peterborough; I hadn't met most of them before. Her old friend Ian, who used to work in The Nightiongale, drove up from Devon. Jan, who used to work with Martin and Di and Stuart's Kitchens, and who later worked with Di at the BBC club, did all the food (at "Eggwins", which is what the BBC Club is now officially called), and it was predictably excellent.
Stuart's half-brother (Martin's son by his first marriage) was there, although Martin himself was not. Stuart quite clearly can't see it himself, but Stuart and half-brother are far more like brothers than they do half-brothers -- personality-wise as well as looks-wise.
As I suspect Diane would have wanted, it wasn't a grim affair. In a valiant show of anti-current-PC, nearly everyone on Di's side of the family likes a cigarette, making various outside refuges popular places.
Although it was a saddening occasion, I didn't come back feeling depressed - more melancholy and reflective. My non-belief in God is fairly aggressive; there are no straws of faith to clutch at. Life is randomly bad or good to people who are bad or good. Di was good and life was randomly bad to her. So it goes.
When I arrived back in London I decided, since it seemed to be a day for memories, to wander down Craven Passage and have a look at the Ship and Shovel, one of my old haunts from the mid-1980s. Some of you may remember the pub as a dingy little local used only by people working in that little village underneath Charing Cross Station, that small block bounded by Villiers Street and Craven Street that in the mid-1980s was an odd place where ebberyone who worked there seemed to know each other.
No longer. The place was heaving. And the brewery (Hall & Woodhouse?) had turned what used to be an old shop opposite the pub into an extension of the pub itself. This was a cunning move in the light of the smoking ban, because that made the passageway a "part" of the pub. But one that you can smoke in. Shrewd.
But why now "The Ship and Shovell"? What's the extra 'l' all about?
