UPON A MAID

Here she lies (in bed of Spice)

Fair as Eve in Paradise:

For her beauty it was such

Poets could not praise too much.

Come, people, come and in a-ring

Her supremest requiem sing:

Then depart, but see ye tread

Lightly, lightly o'er the dead.

Robert Herrick

The cover life intervened to mess up Our Man's online activities these last few days, but things have calmed down enough to post again, although the death on Monday and weekend funeral for my brother's 20-year-old daughter has left me a bit numb and humourless. Although that might be the after-effects of the flight back from Atlanta, yesterday, coloured as it was by a knee semi-permanently wedged in my thigh from the chap sitting next to me who had frequent, unstoppable urges to wave and shout Chinese at random people in seats on the opposite side of the 747.

But I'm over the flight. The death of Jessica, not so much. I'm thinking of writing an essay about it all as a virtual memorial and passing the proceeds to the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation which is doing what it can for families like my brother's, devastated by an inherited life-limiting condition that has no cure.

Carry on. It's all we can do.