As we started our walk to the beach yesterday Shirley said, "If you died tomorrow I don't really know what I'd live on once I'd spent your modest savings ! I suppose I'd have to sell the house and move into Sheltered Accomodation !"
I said, "Surely you would die of grief within a week?"
I actually thought, 'Where did THAT come from ? She doesn't want me dead does she ?'
She stopped walking and exploded with laughter and continued to laugh hard all the way to the promenade with tears pouring down her cheeks and every time she tried to look at me, presumably to apologise, she started up all over again, guffawing and snotting and snorting with people staring at her and elbowing each other and getting out the way of what they presumed was a day-release patient, all the time giving me sympathetic nods !
Eventually I got her home where she lay for the rest of the evening on the sofa holding her stomach and hooting in derision every few minutes shouting out, "GRIEF?" in a continuous stream !
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