It's been ten months, nearer eleven, since my father died and all this time his ashes have been sitting on a shelf in the undertaker's cupboard while my mother decided what she wanted to do with them.
My mother and I do not have an easy relationship: we don't 'do' feelings, for example, never have. This week, sherang up and announced that she and her large and weirdly-behaved dog were coming to see us. Oh the…