I went to my best friend's wedding this weekend, ag I mean my best friend's daughter's wedding. She was wearing white with an insert of blue, really lovely. Elspeth's whole family asked after Geoff, but there was no way he could attend. By Saturday he looked like he'd been in a bar room brawl: black eyes, stitched head and, under the shirt seven or eight handprintfuls of bruise. He did say he was wondering how I would cope when he dies. I know I would cope very well, largely thanks to him. He has bought me my ideal home, view of a mountain from my lounge, the sea less than a kilometre away (the sound of the sea soothes us to sleep every night) and the vlei 200 metres down the road with flamingoes and kingfishers and dogs for Africa. He got a lump sum as pension and we can live off the interest. I have my son and my friend close by. I am quite capable of hanging pictures, changing plugs, painting walls and if I need more complicated handyman work, there are plenty of those around.
In any case there's no saying when he will die. As for this time, while he feels wellish, we will just make every moment count. I am taking the dog to the vlei now and taking him with me.
Okay he didn't want to come out. I'll persuade him to go this evening. My poor husband.
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