Recently I had cause to visit that most wonderful of places, Dartmouth, Devon, although sadly not for a fun day out. That’s the trouble with funerals – they can be so…what’s the word?…ah, yes, Miserable. On this occasion though it was to say goodbye to a longtime friend and colleague from the theatre world (my other life) so as you can imagine there were many theatre-related ridiculous reminiscences and enough anecdotes to make your heart sing. As what the departed would most likely have wanted, conversation was exuberant and sunny, amusing and often hilarious. A dull, damp and somewhat sad day in the West Country was certainly made cheerier by all this talk, not least when some bright spark posed the question: so what rhymes with vicars?
Knickers, obviously. Stickers interjected someone else. Snickers? Did someone mention food? And so it went on. Later, someone pointed out that there was in fact only one vicar so therefore knickers wouldn’t rhyme so what were we going to do about that? Stick with sticker or bicker but you have to admit that those words aren’t half as funny as vicars and knickers when in the same sentence.
But be generous – indulge me the nonsense. When faced with our mortality conversation can run to the absurd and maybe that’s a good thing, channeling all that nervous energy into scintillating and sparkly thoughts and talk.
Later, when the few remaining sandwich quarters and veggie wraps were abandoned uneaten on their platters and the Prosecco bottles were piled high enough to climb over, as the light began fading and the misty sun dipped in the west, it was time to make our way home.
A meander through the narrow Dartmouth streets, a gaze at the little boats dotted along the river Dart and back to the hotel.
Sometimes, the sun goes down just a little too quickly.
Jacci Gooding, Author 
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