** Before we start: ** this is the third part of a story about the big things: life, death and underwear. And about saying goodbye to Meg, a 92-year old woman who died two weeks ago. Next week will be the last instalment. If you missed the previous columns, it might help to click here and here. Thank you to everyone who has stayed the course.
During the coming days Meg’s house will have to be readied for sale and then, in a few months’ time, completely emptied and the keys handed to a new owner. But how do you start packing up a life when everything you catch sight of suddenly seems so imbued with meaning? As we stand there looking around, wondering which cupboard to open first, we imagine avoiding all of the looming decisions by simply keeping everything as it is.
The house is in Stratford-upon-Avon, just a short walk from Shakespeare’s birthplace, so perhaps we could turn it into lodgings for tourists who are after a full-on hey-nonny-nonny experience. David says that we could promote our inn as offering “bard and breakfast” but, of course, people would first have to decide if they wanted to B&B or not to B&B. I suggest that for breakfast I could serve my speciality egg dish of ham-let and toast and that we could even push to doing dinner: Julius Caesar salads and mac-beth burgers, as well as staples such as cod-piece and chips.
We start in the kitchen. A good…
