|I'm always dropping hints for flowers but..|
Now that I've told you THAT, I feel the need to explain how two of my boys came to be find themselves in such an unorthodox playground in the first place. Well, it's really quite simple- I was on church cleaning duty with another girl that afternoon. (Now, I do realise that sounds terribly worthy, and although I'm very tempted to leave you with that (erroneous) impression, I really should put it in context. I'm on a rota to help out, and it only comes up every few months, so it's no biggie and I figure it cancels out the odd Villa Maria binge here and there.)
Anyway, I'd asked my neighbour, who I share school runs with, to drop my boys at the church after school, so she did. As usual, they were very keen to 'help', but after first tramping over our freshly mopped floors, then cleaning the Virgin Mary statue over enthusiastically with feather dusters, I instructed them play outside, while we finished off. Which is how I came to find them, shortly after, shooting the breeze in the skip.
I have to say, and I suspect grave yard appreciation may be an age thing, but as graveyards go, this one's a cracker. It's on a hill, in the countryside, beside a beautiful stone church-all and all not a bad place to wind up. If Carlsberg did graveyards.....
Honestly, even my mum has her eye on a plot there. Belfast, it seems, though a grand place to spend a lifetime, is less desirable eternity wise. Too noisy, too crowded, and you never know who you'd be put next to. No, no, apparently the place to be for the long haul is little old Glenavy! People are DYING to get in, (sorry couldn't resist!), but Loverboy has assured her, that as her eternal comfort is of the utmost importance to him, he'll personally select a prime plot.....he's SO very thoughtful that way.