Groundhog Day ...
I am sitting at my kitchen table. It is mid-afternoon, I think, and the cat is sleeping in the sun. She is my constant companion, the ball of fluff so warm and soft, the purr that drowns out most sorrows. She needs me, especially as the years roll on. It’s a reciprocal relationship, unconditional and uncompromising. Back to the table. My laptop is switched on, and I am perched on the uncomfortable chair that looks good in the shop, but isn’t designed for good posture. I click on the link, and tune in before the livestream starts, seeing the back of heads, a sombre mood in the large space. He was well known, my friend David, so when the MC opens by saying how the skills of Toastmasters will get him through, I’m encouraged. I wear two hats: a curse and a blessing, a distraction and a focus. As a friend, I am gutted that my famous friend has died, so unexpectedly, before I had a chance to say goodbye. And yet, as a celebrant, I am appalled – there is no ceremony, no ritual, nothing th...