I was not going to do any blogging today. I decided to take the day off and make preparations for my visit to London next week. There are various documents to sort out and take with me and also I had a pile of ironing of stuff I want to take with me, as well as making sure that No. 1 son had everything. No.1 son is super. He might be autistic, but when I saw his closed case in his room neatley in a corner I knew that he had everything under cointrol for his holiday. I did a quick question and answer. The only thing not packed is the shaving gear because he will need it before he goes. He has his rucksack ready for a couple of sandwiches to take with him and something to drink, otherwise he is ready. It is a long coach journey, from 8.00 in the morning until about 6.00 in the evening to Italy from Switzerland, but he has done it at least 10 years annually, so no problem.
My dad passed away on 23rd June age 100 years and 7 months, yes, Brexit day, but he was always one for doing something special on memorable days, dear old dad. In the meanwhile I spent the afternoon looking through some life insurance documents that my dad gave me more than 30 years ago and they were then old, with nothing more to pay. I am not really in need of the insurance, as I organised and paid for everything many years ago in England.
There is now just some stuff to sort with the english authorities which I will do when in England, but no big deal. I decided to have a look at these insurance documents, and judging by the print and the yellowed pages, they must have been established when I was born. I am approaching my 70th birthday. They are still valid, but I do not have a clue what they are worth, definitely not a fortune, but they can now be cashed in. I decided it is not worth the cost of a telephone call to London and will call them when in London. The addresses on the documents no longer exist, but I found the company on Internet. These documents were established in the good old days when you paid a weekly amount of a few shillings for an insurance and a guy would come and collect it at the door. Life in the East End of London amongst the cockneys and the working class was not done by bank transfers, no-one had a bank account. It was all neatly written in pencil or pen in books. I think it would perhaps be worth just keeping the insurance books and donating them to a museum.
I noted the various references with the telephone numbers in my iPhone, but will be taking the documents with me. I really do not want to do anything false. All this business is to be done by phone, no internet, to keep it safe probably. I have noticed in this whole maze of organisation that no-one calls me, although I left my telephone numbers everywhere. Even the guy doing the service in the chapel did it all by e-mail. He will be calling me personally when I am in London at my friend’s house as calling me direct on my mobile would incur Swiss long distance charges: even religion has to save money.
So 18 days will have passed until my dad is laid to rest – another great annoyance I have, but in England nothing, absolutely nothing, is organised. In Switzerland you have to wait so long if it is a criminal case where the person passed away under mysterious cicumstances, but it seems to be normal proceedings to wait almost a month in England if you are Church of England. If I had been jewish or muslim it would have all happened within 24 hours, the mind boggles.
Next week will probably be my last journey to England forever. I have no wish to return to England, have no wish to return to the english way of life, and no longer have connections to this country. I am now at the point when I just let things happen. If someone needs something from me, they can ask but I will not be rushing around, I am too old and tired for such stress. One thing I have realised with this mess of beaurocracy – the forest has too many trees for the authorities to see clearly.