Having recovered from the euphoria of digging out the bus, the school we were going to transport to the theatre, decided to cancel. It was mixed emotions. None of us really wanted to do this job. It was going to be a nightmare because of the unlikelihood of there being anywhere to pick up or drop off these children in the centre of town. But then again, we had toiled and sweated by digging out this bus for the purpose of this job.
So we had a cup of tea instead. As we did so the Funeral Directors drove their hearse and limousine into the depot. They had shared the undercover parking spaces at the depot for many years, but sometimes in the early morning gloom when I unlock the door, it can be unnerving to come face to face with a hearse.
One of the drivers started describing the dreadful paperwork involved with his uncle when he returns through one of the ports to the UK. He often drives around Europe in his campervan and on the front seat he places the urn containing the ashes of his late wife., She goes everywhere with him. It's a nice thought and something I could to mention to my wife.
But the one problem is the required form filling to bring ashes back into this country. It is also a security risk. Yet he manages and doesn't complain.
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