Friday, February 04, 2011

H-E-5-I-R-C-E

The car radio is broken at the moment, so I have to amuse myself with my thoughts instead. This is not necessarily a good thing.

As I drove down Roundhay Road in the wind and the rain this morning on my way to the University, I was following a large, black car, which I swiftly realised was a hearse.

Of course this took me back to the Communist's funeral, which was the last one that I went to, and I found my eyes welling up with tears. Even after two years, whenever I think about the Communist, I feel he's so close that I could nearly touch him.

The Communist, of course, was an evangelical atheist - if there can be such a thing - and had no believe in the afterlife. But hey, I thought idly, perhaps he's been proved wrong.

"Okay, Dad," I said assertively. "If you were wrong, and you're out there somewhere, please give me a sign."

I rounded the corner into Barrack Road and there, ahead of me, stretching across the road, was a massive rainbow.

Very impressive, I thought, but unfortunately, I'm not easily convinced. I might have been more convinced had it not been raining at the time.

"Good try, Dad," I said, "but you know I'm not good on symbols. Give me a sign in words".

Then I noticed the number-plate of the hearse.

It was HE5IRCE.

What??? A hearse with a personalised number plate that nearly - but not quite - spells out HEARSE. Who thought that was a good idea? I imagined the owners' conversation.

"Hey, there's a personalised number plate for sale. Let's get it for our hearse. It spells out - - well - - not quite HEARSE."

"Yes, that's a great idea. Tasteful and yet hilarious. Fantastic. Everyone will love it. What larks!"

Unfortunately, even though I had asked for a sign in words, I still couldn't take this seriously as a message from the Communist. He'd have chosen a little rhyme, I know. Something like "RON IS GONE" spelled out in flowers. He always wrote a little rhyme on Christmas or birthday cards.

From the idea of a little rhyme I moved on to a little song and as I drew up at the entrance to the University car park I was singing, loudly, to the tune of D-I-V-O-R-C-E, "And when I'm dead I'm gonna ride in a H-E-5-I-R-C-E."

Luckily I remembered to stop singing as I wound down the window to pay the man at the entrance for my parking.

I do hope that our car radio will be mended soon.

8 Comments:

Blogger Jennyta said...

A car radio with Radio 4 on is an absolute must whenever I'm driving. :)

7:22 pm  
Anonymous jay said...

Hahahaha! Well, D, I'd say you got your sign huh? You now know that your Dad is somewhere out there poking fun at life and making you smile through your tears.

Or maybe not. You knew him, and I didn't ... sounds as if it might be my loss.

Love the bit about the rainbow! I can see that being used in a movie somewhere, complete with 'angelic choir' music!

10:13 pm  
Blogger Yorkshire Pudding said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

2:09 pm  
Blogger rhymeswithplague said...

Great post, Daphne! When I first saw H-E-5-I-R-C-E it reminded me, for some crazy reason, of my aunt's telephone number in Philadelphia, T-U-6-9-2-8-0. The T-U was for Turner back in the days before all the phone numbers when numerical with an area-code prefixed. I'm sure my aunt won't mind my giving out her old number since she died in 1988.

Maybe seeing H-E-5-I-R-C-E causes people to think about beloved relatives who have passed on.

It's probably as good a theory as any.

2:09 pm  
Blogger Yorkshire Pudding said...

If the car radio isn't fixed soon I fear you will go completely bonkers! Perhaps you can arrange counselling sessions with Jenny over in Wrexham. This will help you to get a firmer grip on reality as Paddy gets a firmer grip on your ankles.

2:10 pm  
Blogger rhymeswithplague said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

2:11 pm  
Blogger rhymeswithplague said...

In my earlier comment, "when numerical" should have been "went numerical"....

I'm just saying.

2:13 pm  
Anonymous Alison Runham said...

Completely sympathise with you about your Dad, Daphne, as you well know. Looking for landscape photos for Arty Daughter last week, I came across photos of my Dad holding her as a baby, on her first day at home. Bawled my eyes out, I'm afraid. Can't believe it will soon be a year.

I see I was right about what the drops were! Tropicamide - and if memory serves me, Phenylephrine too - come in different strenghts. Perhaps they did the sensible thing and gave you the weaker ones. :-) Glad it went OK!

8:35 pm  

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