At the funeral

So, last Thursday, dad and I went to my godfather's funeral. Thankfully, there was none of the travel chaos at the times I travelled this time. Roy was born in Nuneaton and his brother, Ray, who was in his eighties still lived there. So that is where his cremation service took place. Roy was only 61. The orator said a fairly few generic things about Roy, having obviously not known him. I took the time to think of all the good times we had and really, I can't remember a single negative experience I had with him. After the cremation, as we didn't know Ray, we didn't go to the wake for tea and biccies, but retired to the Crown pub, near Nuneaton train station. I got talked a lot with a friend of my dad's John McClaren and his son James, who was actually going to the same university as my little sister as it turned out. James had to leave the pub just after 18.00 to make a drama rehearsal, to avoid accusations from some po-faced colleagues that his heart wasn't really in rehearsals. John and I left thirty minutes later, while my dad stayed with a few other people in The Crown. On the train back to Euston, another person who had been at the wake, a railway colleague of Roy's was on train. He was Andy and he, John and I had a good old conversation back to Euston. Andy had to go back to Dartford, so needed to get the Northern Line to Waterloo. John and I moseyed onto Victoria, where he went to Lewes.