Ten Years On

Today is the tenth anniversary of the death of Princess Diana. I happened to be in Britain on that fateful day, visiting my then girlfriend, D---a, who later became my evil ex-wife, the Black Queen. Ironically, the Black Queen and Princess Di have the same first and last letters in their first names. She yelled up to me, as I was in bed, upstairs, while she was downstairs getting some refreshments for us. "You've missed your chance, dear," she yelled. This was a reference to the fact that I had a crush on the lovely, divorced Princess.
Last night, I watched a news story on TV that reported that some American doctors, reviewing the reports of the French medical personnel who attended the crash, have concluded that Diana might have survived, had she been taken to the hospital sooner. What they failed to mention was that had Diana been a regular reader of my blog, she might not have gotten into that crash in the first place. On a related side note, I can NOT confirm rumors that Princes William and Harry are regular readers of this blog. Diana is still the most popular British royal in recent memory. A moment of tribute to "the people's Princess."

Death and Taxes

The old saying that the only sure things are death and taxes has been taken to a new level. Apparently, Ipswich Council are planning to start charging relatives of the dead a levy of £50, on top of the cost of cremation. Money raised in this manner is supposed to pay for a new incinerator, which will give off less mercury when the dead are burned. Supposedly, about 17% of the mercury emitted in Britain comes from cremations. I've heard that people in Ipswich are just dying to pay this tax. It seems that, once again, the most popular new excuse for "governments" to steal more of your money is in the name of protecting the environment. I would stubbornly stay alive, just to deny the silly buggers the money. Taxation is theft!

Nando's Dad

I was awakened, this morning, by the sound of Nando entering the house. By the time I threw something on, he'd gone into his room. I debated with myself whether to knock on his door, but decided not to. After a quick visit to the loo, I was brushing my teeth, when I heard him go downstairs and into the kitchen. I quickly followed, intending to welcome him home. I also wanted to find out how his father was. Nando's trip had been prompted by his father suffering a sudden heart attack. As I entered the kitchen, Nando was putting food away. Whenever he goes to Italy, his Mama always sends food back with him. I immediately asked him what happened. In response, he twirled his finger in the air, exactly like the international aviation hand signal for "start engine." Confused by this, I said, "what?" Nando then verbally informed me that his father had died. I expressed my condolences and asked when he'd died. Nando told me that his father had died a week ago. I was disappointed about this outcome. Not only because I hadn't gotten to meet Nando Papa yet, but because I don't do death well. I never feel like I have anything worthwhile to say when someone I know loses someone to death. Nando gave me the details. I think he will be okay, as after we got off the death topic, he managed to make a joke and smile. Okay, enough about this now, as I don't like to get too heavy on my blog. As you raise a glass for St. Patrick's Day, perhaps you could raise one round to Nando's dad.