Out and about around here. A good funeral. A writer’s childhood ambition. Cats and dogs.

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Yesterday, in the late afternoon, we went for a walk down the Forest Path, a path through a patch of woodland, a path our son called the “secret path” when he was a child but which now has an official name and sports those noticeboards telling you what trees and plants and birds you can expect to see

We came back up the hill to Dobcross, stopping to admire the garden of one of my nodding acquaintances - we chat at the market on Wednesdays and even on one rainy Wednesday she offered me a lift home as her husband was collecting her but we have never introduced ourselves. Altogether a fine, crisp September afternoon/evening.

This morning I saw a deer in our closer-to-hand bit of woodland between the two millponds on my regular running route. He was bounding along on the other side of the stream, too fast for me to get my phone out to take a picture. A good sight on a fine morning. 

There was an article in today’s Guardian about the funeral of former England Manager Sven-Göran Eriksson. Oddly the headline made it sound as though the most important thing was the importance of Devid Beckham being there: “David Beckham joins mourners at Sven-Göran Eriksson’s funeral in Sweden”. But i n fact there was just a lot of stuff about the man himself.

It seems he “would often choose to wear a suit as a teenager but was also known to post a sign on his bedroom door saying “no entry – homework in progress”, to give himself extra time to read detective novels in bed.”

He sounds like a fine person. His daughter, Lina, said that her father had wanted a funeral “full of joy, music and happiness”. She added: “In Dad’s own words, ‘Don’t be sorry, smile, take of yourself and take care of your life and live it because life is beautiful.’” And music there was: a brass band played “You’ll Never Walk Alone”, remembering his fondness for Liverpool; there was Elton John’s “Candle in he Wind” and Frank Sinatra’s “My Way”. A nice send-off by-all accounts!

I also came across an interview with the writer Anne Enright. She revealed that, “When I was seven I wanted to be a nun. When I was eight, I wanted to be a boy so that I could be anything I wanted. Also, of course, I wanted to be Samantha in Bewitched.” It’s a good nob nobody took her childhood ambitions seriously and took action on them. Mind you, quite what anyone could have done to give her the power to twitch her nose and work magic spells remains a mystery. 

In answer to the question, “What is the worst job you’ve done?” She replied, “When I was 17 I took on a class of six-year-olds for a week. When the Angelus rang at noon, they stood up in silence and I realised I was supposed to recite the prayer, which I did not know. I said: “There will be no Angelus today because of that child fidgeting at the back.””

Across the pond, the Trump Harris debate continues to provoke comment and other more serious reactions. Following all the crazy stuff about them eating the dogs and cats, Haitian residents in the town of Springfield have reported receiving severe threats and harassment.

Here’s First Dog on the Moon’s commentary on the debate:

The world is more than a little crazy.

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!