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The Waters of Mara

And Moses brought Israel from the Red Sea, and they went forth into the wilderness of Sur: and they marched three days through the wilderness, and found no water. And they came into Mara, and they could not drink the waters [...] because they were bitter: whereupon he gave a name also agreeable to the place, calling it Mara, that is, bitterness. Exodus 15:22-23

Can't drink too deep or too long from those waters. Bitterness is a choice of the living, the dead have none of it. I don't know what will happen to the tales and toxins of my father's life, but I don't think they can be part of him now.

I have been awake since 5.30, rememembering how he used to love driving at night or early morning. I would be gently shaken awake by Mum and dressed, and away in the car we would go on some adventure. He was an utter petrolhead, and could spend his whole life driving.

Tomorrow we go.

Speaking of waters, I still have a small bag of Mark's ashes in my handbag. It makes me think of an old Cheers episode where, in a bizarre act of mourning, Lilith is carrying a dead lab rat called 'Whitey' around in her handbag. So today I must go to Greenwich, down by the river, maybe by the Cutty Sark, and dispose of the ashes there. I was at the South Bank yesterday with two friends, but they were so happy and we were rushed, so I didn't have time to get to a bridge over the Thames. I can't take my mate's ashes to my dad's cremation, it is weird beyond weird.

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