About 10 days ago was the occasion of the annual barbecue put on by Naomi's law firm, which takes place at a rather nice pub in a rather nice part of Winchester (called Hyde).
I've been meaning, since then, to write briefly about a few moments that I had to myself, while I sat at a picnic table in the beer garden and Naomi was going round her assembled colleagues, saying 'good night' to them while I finished off a pint.
All around me there were different conversations taking place, and as my brain struggled to allow all of them into my consciousness I quietly noticed my own feelings of wellbeing. I couldn't quite follow all of what was going on around me properly, but for a few seconds while I was held for ransom by my own senses of sight and hearing, I felt a peace that made me wonder if this is what the afterlife is like. Not being fully there, but not being concerned about it at all.
In the role of this errant observer, I found myself looking up at a man with a beard and glasses at nearby table and started singing/mumbling to myself (to the tune of Dude Looks Like a Lady) "Dude lookslike Harold Shipman".
It's a good job I don't take drugs, isn't it.
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1 comment:
Wait till you meet Patrick's Dad.
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