I Want It That Way

I have not had a very good start to the week.

Yesterday I went to a funeral, and while funerals are never pleasant affairs, it just seems that much more miserable when it's the first thing you do on a Monday. Gay Best Friend, whom I have not seen much of since we moved out of Woolwich, texted me just under three weeks ago to tell me his husband had died. I had met M a few times. Our first encounter springs to mind, when he arrived after work at our Woolwich local where GBF and I, who were down a good 4 glasses of wine apiece, were holding court on the centre couch. As he walked in, he was bombarded by the two of us launching ourselves at him and both trying to talk over each other to tell him the story of our day. I distinctly remember dumping the contents of my bag all over his lap in a drunken attempt to find my missing keys. Luckily he was very patient by nature, and saw the humour in our rather unorthodox meeting.

When GBF told me the news, I was shocked. M was suffering from Crohn's disease, an inflammatory bowel disease for which there is currently no cure. Many Crohn's sufferers live a long and good quality life by adhering to a strict agenda of drug and lifestyle choices, much like diabietics. M, however, was one of the unlucky ones. His condition was so chronic that he was on 17 different meds a day to control the symptoms. He was also overweight. He died from a sudden and unexpected heart attack, brought about by the combination of meds and general poor health.

It was a good few days after I received the news that I was finally able to contact GBF. He was kept busy for a while with all the arrangements that come with someone passing, and he was holding up remarkably well. At the service yesterday, he read a short but beautiful letter he had written to M, and then dedicated the song Footprints In The Sand to him. It was simple and poignant, but I found it difficult to sit through. This is only the third funeral I have attended, and the first for a non-family member. The fact that he was young, and it was so unexpected..... it sat like a stone in my chest. I felt such despair as the curtain closed on his coffin, and seeing GBF's naked pain was so hard to watch.

We retired afterwards to the pub for the wake, as is tradition in the UK, and it was there that we chanced upon a story that made us all laugh so hard we cried genuine tears of joy. Two of the guests, good friends of both M and GBF, had arrived a little early for the service. The crematorium has two chapels, and there are two services going on simultaneously. They also churn the services out - they run 15 minutes apart all day from 9am to 6pm. Somehow, Sharon and Julia ended up in a waiting room, and stood around, ahem, waiting, for someone to call them for M's funeral. A funeral director appeared from a side door and ushered them into one of the chapels, saying they were ready to begin. Shazza and Jules sat dutifully in a pew at the back, and turned to watch the coffin being wheeled in. A Catholic priest took to the podium (I know this is not the right word, but I can't remember what is?!?!) and said a prayer, inviting the guests to cross themselves in Catholic tradition. Shazza and Jules followed his lead, although both were a little confused, as they had never known M to be a religious man. The coffin was lifted up onto the platform, and Jules suddenly noticed the flowers adorning it. Carnations! GBF is a florist by trade, and M had an insider's knowledge of and attachment to flowers. If there was one thing Jules knew, it was that M did not like carnations. The light dawned, and she broke into a fit of giggles as she realised she and Shazza were at the wrong funeral. The giggles quickly became tears of hysterical laughter, and she bolted from her seat and out the back door. Shazza, thinking her friend was just overcome with emotion, stayed put, and continued to observe the Catholic tradition of saying goodbye to their dead. It was only once everybody was seated and the first family member was halfway through his speech that the light dawned for her also, but by then it was too late to go anywhere. Shazza sat through a random stranger's funeral, all the while biting her lip to prevent from causing major disruption to the service. Jules spent the 40 minutes doubled over in the corridor, struggling to breathe through a laughing fit the likes of which she had never encountered before.

It lightened the mood, and we all felt that M was laughing with us - how could he not?!!?!?

So that is the one thing that has me feeling a bit down. The other is further complications with my visa. I'll keep it short: I need to write a test before I am allowed to book an appointment for my new settlement visa in July. This test used to be compulsory only for people applying for citizenship, but the government has decided that everyone applying for indefinite leave to remain (ie permanent residence) must now also write it. I can't book my appointment until I have my test results, and I can't write my test until my passport comes back from the Home Office because that is the only form of ID the test centre will accept. I already had a small window in which to organise all these visas in time to travel in August - this new factor has narrowed that window by a whole lot more. The pressure is building and I am incredibly frustrated at how I am being thwarted at every turn. If giving up was an option, yesterday I would have done it - I was that gatvol (had enough). Unfortunately, giving up would mean I'd have to return to Cape Town for good in August, and I'm not ready to do that yet. So while this does decrease my chances of going to Portugal and Spain, I have to press on and hope for the best. Now I have to decide whether or not I am going to buy my non-refundable flights along with everybody else this weekend or if I'm going to wait and see what happens, and pay perhaps double closer to the time.

As you can, it is sucking big time to be me at the moment. If I had one wish right now, I'd wish for a British passport. I can't actually think of anything in the world I want more. Anyway, onwards and upwards. I'll keep you posted.