Greetings, my people! Welcome to another edition of “musings.”
Let me tell you, I am exhausted. This last month has been a wild ride! From marking 17 years cancer-free (🎉) to celebrating the legendary Sir Rudolph Walker’s 85th birthday, hosting a Lawyers’ Ball, watching a hundred couples tie the knot, catching an incredible play in the West End, and squeezing in two funerals—all while battling a cold. 🥶
This weekend, I’m off to Wolverhampton, Leicester, and Birmingham. No wonder badman’s feeling a bit knackered! I haven’t even had time to cook or, as Mrs. Nestor would say, “pick out the nuts from the shrubbery” (her version of cooking, I swear).
But here’s the real drama… I did something this week that has people side-eyeing me. I want your honest opinion—did I cross the line? Picture this: I took my Tupperware to a funeral. After everyone had eaten, I slipped into the kitchen and filled up my containers. Curtis caught wind of it and blabbed to everyone, so I had to leave before I could even grab a drink. Is this bad? I thought this was standard procedure!
Let me tell you about that funeral. The deceased was Irish, and his wife is Jamaican. The mix of music and dancing was… well, let’s just say it was something else! I swear I heard Buju Banton and Danny Boy in the same set. Didn’t make it to the church for either funeral though—every time they start singing How Great Thou Art, I’m back to burying my dad, and the tears start flowing. Then, inevitably, someone says, “I didn’t know you were that close to the deceased!” 😳
Anyway, I’m in Holborn right now, switching gears, fixing my speeling (lol), and digging for some pics to share.
Take care of yourselves, and a quick note—Bosslady is the only one who doesn’t tell me to slow down. She’s already asked about my insurance and what songs I want at my wake! 🤔
