Crying over porridge
Sorry I’ve been AWOL for a few days. I’ve been up at my parent’s, and then up in Tadcaster for a funeral of a dear friend on Wednesday.
It was a lovely service at the church, with tributes from family and friends, which had me in tears on a number of occasions. We followed the service with a quick drink in Alex’s memory with my family in a pub nearby, which turned out to be ‘the opposition’s pub’. Alex’s family are the owner’s of John Smith’s brewery – something which I didn’t know before. Everyone then went over to the family home, where there were photos of Alex around the place and some books for people to write their memories of Alex in. I ended up writing about porridge!
As the hearse was about to drive away from the church, we stood next to it to say one last goodbye to him. And of all things to make me cry it was porridge! I never thought I would ever cry over porridge! I’ve know Alex for a long time, we figured out probably nearly 20 years, if not more. One of my over-riding memories of him was when we would stay up on Jura in Scotland, where the island house was owned by Alex’s family. Each year we would climb one of the Paps, or go on at least one long walk, and on the morning of these hikes Alex would make his porridge. Now I love porridge, I could eat it til it came out my ears, usually with a generous dollop of golden syrup. I’ve no idea what Alex did to his porridge though, but it was hideous! I would add sugar to it, or golden syrup, or jam, you name it, but nothing could improve that taste of Alex’s porridge. I could never finish it, but EVERY time I would have some, trying to convince myself that it couldn’t be as bad as last time!
Alex really was the stereotypical gentle giant, and I will miss him so much.
Rest in Peace, Alex.