My father died.
I got called back from Poland for the funreal at short notice.
A happy funeral with a Humanist Speech. Fine.
Suddenly, a guy gets out his violin and plays over the grave.
A very famous guy.
He is 1st violin from, maybe, the best known Russian Quartet.
Now he is first violin in Scotland.
He plays my father's favourite songs.
I am watching something like 'Fiddler on the Roof' in my own life.
Then I remember the story.
This guy escaped to Scotland after the hard times.
His quartet had nothing. Nic. Fucking nic.
My father had helped them get sorted out, had fed them and done all they could (my family is not rich). They got sorted through hard work.
On many occasions they had drunk Wodka together and talked about the old days.
This major violinist did something special for my father.
He took some ancient tape of my grandmother singing some old songs solo.
Went into the studio (BeeB) and put the instruments into the mix.
WoW, My grannie playing with the famous blah blah Quartet.
A very famous Combo.
A very wonderful thought.
That's the way it should be.
This guy is good. They all cry. It's a right good funeral.
(I thought that the tuning was a tiny bit off - but what the Hell it's a funeral).
I cried later.