Potters Funeral

The funeral caught me by surprise. It was so desperately sad to see people I know and love grieving. His son, barely old enough to vote, carrying his daddies wasted bones in a box on his young shoulders.
As we shuffled out amongst the mourners, edging between the pews of this ancient church, I made a mental note that perhaps my one and only suit isn't entirely appropriate for funerals...summer-green really isn't the colour of mourning.
After the hearse had creaked down the hill we popped into the Bell Inn and sat surrounded by good friends from a bygone age sipping lemonde and I wished that I hadn't left my Golden Virginia in the car.