Men deal with shock by withdrawing to the couch with beer. Women go get their hair done. My hair now has streaks of copper and ash in different shades. Thanks, I think, Eddie.
What is there to say when you've just returned from the funeral of a friend? I look at the entry of a few days ago, where I thought I'd spend my days off from work doing this, that and the other and it is laughable. Plans of mice and men, the gods giggled, etc. And I had written about how strange it was, to think that eventually I spent my birthday at a wake. Eddie's widow shares my birthday. How much more she had to go through.
The funeral was kinda funny in that you could straightaway tell which were the media people (E's job for 20 years) and the PR people (he left journalism to join a PR agency last year). The journos had open-necked shirts, some with their shirt tails sticking out, were in sneakers or sockless. The PR people wore ties, jackets, suits and hid behind sunglasses -- the women looked like Jackie O at Kennedy's funeral. The two camps were sitting on opposite sides of the funeral hall. And ever the split between.
A PS from the previous entry -- Sophie may come over to stay for a while. Queeni had better be nice. Rupert will love to have a new girlfriend.
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