This week has just flown by - there don't seem to've been quite enough hours gone by to have got us from getting home on Monday night to Saturday morning. But I guess there must've been, coz here we are! :) Think I've managed to get everything (except 2 new beach towels) we'll need for our holiday - which is rather stunningly efficient as it's not for another month & a half. Mind you, I didn't need to buy much, so it's more efficiency by accident ;) Some lower factor suncream than the 50+ stuff we took to Egypt, coz this holiday will be more about lazing about in the sun than seeing stuff, so I'd like to actual tan a bit ;) Also some more sleeveless tops (well, that's my excuse for buying them, anyway - and they've come in handy for our current heatwave here too). And a bikini - M&S are doing mix and match bikini tops/bottoms, and I didn't discover till I got home that the two bits I picked up are subtly different colours of black ... you'd think you'd make sure mix-and-match stuff actually matched, wouldn't you? Not that it matters, there'll be sufficient white-me in between to make it impossible to tell ;)

I can't find a graceful way to get from that paragraph to the other thing I wanted to write about, so I shan't try.

My brother's godfather, Alan Forsyth, died last week. I never really interacted with him much as an adult - he came to my wedding, and of course there were Christmas cards & birthday cards, but that's about it. So my recollection of him is mostly childhood memories - and hard to put into words (given the amount I type to go into LJ, you might be surprised to hear I have trouble with verbalising things but it's true). I have a mental image of someone larger-than-life who told entertaining stories & went to exotic places (the latter may be entirely based on a memory of looking at photos of a trip of his to China(?)). And that doesn't really convey anything about the man at all. I think the only photos of him that I have are a couple from my wedding - there's one here of him (talking to another of my parents' friends, Gill, who is my brother's godmother). He was one of a smallish group of my parents' friends who count as family in my head - on the Christmas card list, invited them to my wedding, etc - and so it feels like he's the first of my parents' generation to die of old age (he was 79). Which is an unsettling feeling.