No Weddings and a Funeral

Pahhh. It's ten past midnight and I just got home from one of those days that goes on forever, rolling like the hills and the obese and the boulders in Indiana Jones. Despite this longevity it has however been a much more positive day than I anticipated, there have been many more smiles than tears. One thing though, the past 30 hours have been a little bizarre; the forces of the universe seem to have been trying to stop me getting to Naomi's funeral. Totes ganging up on me. I'm not sure what they were trying to save me from but I'm pretty sure whatever it was didn't happen. Or something. I don't know, I'm tired, alrighttt. Here's how the story goes:

It's about quarter to six yesterday. I leave the pub after a quick beverage with my work colleagues. I just miss a bus to Victoria Coach Station but then I remember I'M IN LONDON THE BUSES COME EVERY FIVE MINUTES ahahahahaha I win. Except I don't. One doesn't come for ages and then when one finally appears on the board it's miles away and then another message appears saying there are 40 minute delays. ARGH. MY COACH TO THE NORTH AND NAOMI'S FUNERAL LEAVES IN 28 MINUTES AND I AM 30 MINUTES AWAY. It's at this distressing moment that a random lunatic comes up to me and tries to give me a leaflet. I say no thankyou (this was not the juncture in my life for happy hour pizza). Then this interaction occured:

(him) "Are you ok? You look sad"
(me) "Yes, I'm fine thankyou"
"Ooo, you have a freedom pass, how lucky are you!" (a freedom pass is a bus pass you get when you're disabled)
"Um... Not really, I have to have cancer to get it"
"OOO CANCER. IS IT BREAST CANCER" he says while staring at my somewhat flat chested boob area and groping his own man boobs
"Erm, no, I have blood cancer"
"OOO BOWEL CANCER"
"BLOOD CANCER"

And then the conversation progressed and I found out his name was Giovanni and he's a spiritual healer and he's going to pray for me, how useful. I'm as spiritual as a brick wall. ANYWAY after Giovanni finally went away I realised I had a crisis on my hands. ENTER FIGHT OR FLIGHT MODE. So, I brisk walked to the tube (bearing in mind I was having an awful leg day) only to find the main entrance was closed but there were no signs to the other one so I had to walk around in circles trying to find it and then I eventually did and got on a tube but all the walking had made me feel unwell so when I got off at Victoria station I fainted into a wall (HI WALL) and a man had to help me out the tube station.

Upon leaving I realised I could still just make it to the coach with some brisk walking. I thanked the man and made a miraculous recovery (or just did some serious mind over matter, there was no way on earth I was missing that fucking coach, I've got me a service to get to) and walked down the central reservation all the way to the coach station. I made it to the coach just as he was closing the doors. I pretty much prised them open with my bare hands. I WAS ON THE COACH. Success. I then sat for three and a half hour sweating all over this random South Asian dude next to me. Lovely sexy sweaty Stanze.

But yeah, I relaxed in the knowledge that as soon as I got to Chesterfield my grandad would give me a lift home so I could get a good nights sleep. Lovely lovely sleep. But oh no. Massive queues and roadworks, my grandad got bored of waiting for me and my mysterious coach and went home. I eventually pulled into Chez and got in a taxi back to my rural abode. Waaa. Much money. Much pain.

The fun didn't stop this morning though, oh noooooooo not at all sailor. My first bus to the church was fine but the second......... Again, I just missed one, but no worries, these ones are every eight minutes.......... Ahahahahaha. Ahahahaha. (can you tell I'm tired? Sense has gone on his holidays). No such luck. ALL GONE MISSING. I did eventually make it there though. And on time. Just. Look at me go, fighting the travel demons. Light will always triumph over dark.

The service was beautiful and I got to see quite a few of my cancer friends so that was smashing. Of course it's a horrible way to have to see them but it was also nice to recant stories of Naomi. And wonder why such a sweet, kind natured girl would put up with any of us. I maintained the Northern stereotype throughout and didn't cry because I knew that if I started I'd never stop. It was a little spooky towards the end, I was specially wearing a little ring with a carriage on that Naomi always used to covet and it got stuck in my lace skirt and I had to spend the last five minutes trying to get it out. I like to think that was a last little laugh she sent me down from heaven.

We then all went over to a hotel for her wake. There were sandwiches and cupcakes and many many people. My phone battery was nearly dead and I desperately needed some charge but the only plug was in the centre of a wall so I secretly plugged my phone in and left my handbag in front except it was a rainbow matryoshka bag and it just looked ridiculous. It was at that point I realised I was stealing electricity from a funeral. Again, why Naomi ever let me be her friend is beyond me.

One the bus back home another crazy man sat next to me. His name was Yusuf. He'd just been to pray at the mosque for a friend who recently passed and was asking me all about what Christian funerals are like. Then he was going on about how he'd had a spliff (or some other drug, I spent most of our conversation trying to piece together the seemingly random words that were coming out his mouth) and how sweaty he was and whether he should grow a beard or not. I was unsure as to how to advise him. I wasn't much in the frame of mind for a facial hair judging competition. He asked for my phone number. I politely declined as my vagina is already exclusively tied to one man and also I prefer my men drug free and able to structure a sentence.

Then when I got off the bus another man came up to me and said "HELLO GORGEOUS" and tried to chat me up but I was having none of it. SORRY GUYS FUNERAL DAYS ARE NOT SEXY DAYS. My sad face must accidentally be my sultry seductive face because the men of the North were just loving me today.

It's over though. No more pain. No more suffering. Whenever I want to cry I just tell myself that. Nothing hurts when you're asleep. When you're snoozing away.

But as I said before Naomi's passing has made me a lot less afraid of death. I wasn't much afraid before but now I know she's up there saving me a seat it seems a lot more welcoming. Not that they'll let me into heaven, especially now I've stolen electricity from one of my best friend's funeral. Jeez. We can gossip through the fence between heaven and hell, her with god and her angel wings and me doing shots with the devil. I almost can't wait.

Night night,
Constanze.