Stevenage. Funeral. Lovely bloke. dropped dead of 'anxiety' (a condition I assure you I totally empathize with) Crematorium up on England's green and pleasant; chimneys cunningly disguised as oast house (Essex Design Guide triumphant!) At this moment it's important to remember - Julie's family traditionally divvy up in to either coppers or villains- salt of the earth types. Now there are people from all over the world at this funeral, but especially Australians (!) I can't tell the surf dudes from the Hatfield clubbers- amazing similarities in bleached hair styles. Maybe a few onlookers are also cunningly disguised (see below).

At wake, we get stormed by the Special Branch. Man who read emotional eulogy hauled off. Seemed he's jumped bail for Australia years ago and thought PC plod might have 'forgot'. After all, it turns out it was only a minor altercation involving a baseball bat or two which translates, in Stevenage (as far as I can see) as 'he got involved in a fight'. Much consternation amidst family but half of them seem, well, sort of, used to it.

Back in Bethnal Green we realize our lives here are positively bucolic, almost parochial, largely because we don't charge up and down the A1 all the time in 4x4's listening to Sade remixes disturbing our psychic orientation. In fact, what was only 'this morning' felt like about six years to us.

So, the moral of the story is, if you are criminally inclined, please abandon sentimentality- because that's when they nick you. Also, beware of suburban Britain and Australia.