Further ramblings of a self-made pauper

Well, I'm back. I survived, but I am confirmed in my belief that I don't want to do that again. If, perchance you deign to die on me, I shall come round and kill you for your impertinence.

Thanks to all for the comments and advice.

I am going to collapse on my bed and listen to something loud and with an intricate bass line (probably have to be Crimso in that case...)and chill for a while.

I may update further later. Or tomorrow.

I am not looking forward to morning.

Tomorrow is the funeral, and as Shalewa's line manager I am going along to represent the division. I am also going along to represent myself, because I liked the woman. But I don't know any of her family, and I don't know what one says in these circumstances.

At what point do condolences, however sincere, become intrusion, and where is the dividing line between reserve and standoffishness? How long do I stay before I have outstayed my welcome at a family event, and how do I know that I am leaving disrespectfully early?

What do you say?

I am no good at funerals. I don't do funerals. I have only done three in my life; I avoided each of my paternal grandparents' funerals because I was young and didn't understand. I missed Uncle Des' funeral in January because I had to pack and get the Hell Out Of Dodge a week later, and couldn't spare the time or money to go back to Telford.

I have been to three funerals. Precisely that. One for my Uncle Ted who I'd only got to know in the last three years of his life. I was surrounded by family - my family - I'd never met.

What do you say?

Twenty-five years ago, I went to the funeral of my best friend's father. It was a frosty and cold January morning and I recall thinking how considerate that they'd gone for cremation.

I would rather do just about anything other than attend the funeral tomorrow.

But I liked Shalewa, and her desk is an empty space in the office. So I shall just bite down hard and go.