Today is Jeff’s Funeral. I’m not going. I did think some more about it and I’m not not going merely to avoid inconveniencing [...]. He’s being cremated in Scarborough and then there’s a do (a junk food buffet, which symbolises Jeff’s legendary unhealthy diet) at The Shambles, which involves stairs. So very long day, and it’s going to be very traumatic. To be honest, I don’t feel strong enough in myself, before we get to the risk of my presence detracting from what other people get out of it.
In a few weeks time they are going to put his ashes in a Viking style long boat, ignite it and set it out to sea. There’s an article about this in The Whitby Gazette, which includes a rather blurry picture of Jeff. I might be able to go down to the beach watch this; we’ll see.
Anyway, I don’t know what I’ll do today, I imagine it may be business as usual for me. I might have a quiet time in the afternoon.
A person called Tinbasher pointed me towards this poem which I thought I would share with you.
For Whom The Bell Tolls - John Donne
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.