Blimey what a roller coaster the past 10 days have been. The mixed emotions. The excitement going 'home' and of seeing mates and remaining family for the first time in nearly 3 years, together with the heartbreak of Grandma Not's death and the obvious strains that this puts upon a family of 4 siblings who have lost both parents to lung cancer in 11 months.

The first thing I did was to zoom up to see 'my lot' in Leyland for the weekend with the children. We did all the things I used to do as a child when with my cousins. We walked, ate, climbed a climbing wall, walked some more and then toddled back down South for the beginning of the sad part of the trip.

Not being a Catholic the Vigil when Grandma Not comes to stay at the church overnight was quite a nice personal bit of the funeral process. My sister in laws were both very upset which worried my kids who have never seen a sobbing adult before. The priest was fantastic. Young(ish) and totally human which for me was a first. He had made friends with Grandma Not since her husband's death last year and really knew how she ticked and what made her laugh. As a result the service was great. He even read a Joyce Grenfell passage at the beginning which would have pleased even my Mum!

The wake was just great. A proper party in a 16th Century hotel with loads of booze and grub, all the cousins, etc and everyone having a lovely time. She (who loved a good party) would have really enjoyed herself.

Then the trouble started. The sisters couldn't understand that Mr Not wasn't throwing himself on the grave weeping. The boys had done the sadness behind closed doors with their respective wives and as a result when 'older brother Not' told Mr Not to take the Grandfather clock or it would be given away to a scrap merchant he ordered a crate to take all the bookshelves and a few personal items to NZ.

Mr Not and I have seen what a House Clearance man can do to one's parents 'stuff'. I stood in a High Wycombe street 5 years' ago watching someone smash up my mothers' life with a sledge hammer outside a storage unit. I paid £350 for this honour and it broke my heart.

Mrs Not is a whole different ball game. She was a hoarder with a love of books and sewing material which she continued to buy right until the end ;) As a result the job in hand is immense. So when Mr Not with 5 days to go before we caught a plane home, got down to moving all the books out of the house into the garage for a dealer and discussed putting unwanted things aside for shipping to NZ, he was labelled heartless with obvious consequences. It all culminated with a massive screaming match between Big Sister and Mr Not in front of all our children and with me telling Big Sister Not a few home truths (she's a bit of a tyrant) :oops:

We were glad to be out of it but I wasn't glad to come home.
I had forgotton how much I love my real home and spent many a tearful moment outside Terminal 3 of Heathrow on Monday morning just people watching. People from every walk of life march past on their travels to work or on their holidays. London in the frost has a very distinctive smell. Viva cosmolitanism.

Well it's back to reality now. Uniform to name and sandwiches to make. 2 months of having the children around me is at an end. I always find this time of year very sad, wherever I reside. Giving my children away to teachers for 8 months or so of the year is not good.

Well I'm back ... and thank you England and Grandma Not for a great trip. I will miss them. Until the next time. I've already started saving :wave: