Another month, another funeral. I realise we're all going to die at some point, but it seems I am going to more than my fair share of funerals. The second this year, and seven friends who have been seen off (mostly with cancer) before their time in the last few years.
This is pretty distressing.
The Ongar is dead, long live the Ongar!
Some might say that we're entering a bright new era of government as Gordon Brown steps in (without contest) to take the helm of our Country and the Labour Party.
For me, and my cynical mind, I doubt much will change. Apparently Brown is much less pro-Euro than Blair was, and maybe there will be some differences in approach here. For the most part however I cannot see much benefit to the country. Also the way in which the handover has happened automatically, Brown's coronation appearing to be merely a 'fix', simply does not inspire confidence in the government. The chances of exciting and improved policy change seem also pretty slight.
To quote a Victorian bride-to-be's saying "To change the name, but not the letter, is a change for the worse, and not the better."
As one of the members of our staff is about to become a father, I thought I would take the time to briefly explain an old medieval birthing tradition which involves both cheese and alcohol.
It would seem that the prospective father was expected to chomp his way through the middle of a large cheese until a hole big enough for the newly born sprog would be passed in a ceremonial manner, in a practice known as a "Groaning Cheese".
Meanwhile, a strong ale, known as the "Groaning Malt" which had been brewed specially for the occasion and given to "the gossips who attend at the birth of a child, and for those who come to offer to a husband congratulations at the auspicious event" was poured out.
As it happens, I am brewing a batch of Ale at this very moment. I look forward to bringing a few bottles along to the birth...
