Dylan and I were outside the reception hall yesterday. Dressed in a suit and tie, he was uncomfortable - although he did bring his favourite beanie along and popped it on when not inside. I was the only one wearing pants, all the other females were dressed in 'little black dresses' - the older ones in suits or an assortment of black skirts and tops.

We were outside because the noise inside resembled that of a nightclub. He wanted to tell me something.

"Mum, when I die, I'm having a Viking funeral. Put on a boat, pushed out to sea and then someone throws a flaming arrow and I drift away, till the boat sinks, right?"

"Hey that's my thing!"

"I thought you wanted your ashes scattered on the water? You can't copy me mum!"

"I can do whatever the hell I like!"

"But you'll be dead ha-ha, so you won't get to choose - Hey can you put your funeral wishes in your will?"

"I suppose you can. But look at Nikk right? Everyone knew he wanted to be cremated but he still ended up in the ground."

"That's coz his wife wanted the whole attention thing?"

"Well, I want to turn your grandma into a diamond."

"What if you lose her though? What are you going to do? Put out an ad saying "Lost Mother, description: she's one carat set in gold?"

"Hmmm there's that."

"And your brother won't go for it. He'll want the whole spectacle."

"I know right! But she always tells me she wants something simple. You heard her in there! She hates this whole big party thing afterwards."

"You could always cut her in half? You get the legs and turn them into a diamond, uncle gets the top half - like you can have just half of the casket open and no one will know right?"

"I am not cutting your grandmother in half!"

"I am so going to do all this for you! Cheap plastic plates and a photo montage of your life in big screens everywhere!"

"You do that and I will haunt you."

"No way you can do that!"

"I will haunt you, you hear? I'll find a way to turn your life into hell!"

Our conversation was disrupted by a couple who wandered out for a smoke.

"Great funeral," the woman said. "My you've grown taller - Dylan, isn't it?"

"Yes?" He clearly had no idea who these people were. I in the meantime cursed my inability to remember names. Italian... Italian... He was Ralph, she was...

It didn't matter in the end, because more people drifted out.

"Great funeral." It seemed the standard greeting.

Dylan and I discreetly moved away and headed inside.

"Hey, are we celebrating a death here or mourning a life?" The thought popped in my head, seeing the ruckus again.

"No clue. Either one works right?"

Have I told you how much I love this kid? Times like these, when he could sit with others his age but chooses to be my 'plus one'?

Back at 'our' table, the main meal was being served. Some deep fried seafood stuff, calamari rings and what looked like batter encrusted fish bites - or could have been chicken nuggets, as Dylan said. We never tried any of it.

"Hey, you're going to need a new car soon, you know?"

"Don't!" This hissed because I knew where the conversation was heading.

"Grandpa's piss really soaked in bad this time. Two nappies right, and those plastic pants on top and still he made a lake? The front seat's gone for good now."

"Stop it!"

"What? That's my seat when he's not in the car! I have to sit in that!"

My father was directly opposite, his pants dripping with urine, the front of his suit jacket sporting lots of dribble and assorted food bits. He was trying to pierce a calamari ring with the plastic fork. Both fork and ring ended off the plate and... in his lap? Dylan ducked under for a quick check.

"Not on the floor. Definitely lap."

I stood and cut up the food to more manageable portions for him. Still, most of it ended up either in his lap or on the floor - similar to the way it was at home.

Earlier, we'd arrived at the church - late as always because there was the whole getting dad ready thing and then mum - with little eyesight now - wearing a dress with several stains... Anyway, by the time we got there all the pews were taken so we stood at the very back.

That's when I spotted her. Wife number one - as in my brother's first wife? Oh shit. She looked major pissed. I knew that expression well. Just as I was contemplating all the possible ensuing scenarios, my brother and his second wife made an entrance. I say this because everyone knows him, so a small crowd gathered, shaking 'the great man's' hand.

I whispered to wife number two, "She's here."

"Yeah, I knew she would be. Have you told mum yet? About your brother not being there on Sunday?"

"Nope. I think he better tell her."

"I forgot the breast shields damn it and I'm leaking! Grab some tissues off your mum!"

A little later, driving way from the church towards the cemetery, we spotted my brother rushing out of a supermarket, a pack of breast shields under one arm. I tooted and tooted on that horn! Even great men it seems have to at times deal with life's little emergencies!

My brother's job entails a lot of travel, which means we've had more than our fair share of family gatherings, special occasions and other what-nots without him... hell - he even missed my first wedding.

"Don't worry sis, I'll make it to the next one," he'd said at the time. And he did make it to the next one, so that was something.

On Sunday it is our Easter and we have this whole lamb on the spit thing organised. Dylan is going to take charge of it, he is adamant.

"I got it!" he'd told me when I'd questioned the idea, being his and all.

"You know nothing!"

"It's a lamb, right, it just spins and then when it's ready, we cut it up. Besides. Boyd's staying over to help." Boyd is... well he has dreadies and drinks girlie- alcohol and he's in trade school, working part time as - as a motor mechanic?

Oh boy. At some point in the very near future - this being Thursday - I have to get through his "I got it" and at least explain some of the basics. Like he has to get up at 5am, light the fire, baste the lamb and basically spend the next six hours watching it, making sure it cooks evenly and that the skin is basted often so it doesn't burn off? Then there is the whole 'lamb coming to a stop' thing. It has to be re-tied or whatever to get it spinning again. And I'm bloody vegan right, and the reason I'm a vegan is because my childhood pet lamb 'Whitey' ended upon a similar spit? Oh boy.

My brother did tell mum he wouldn't be there. She cried. She's always crying these days. I tried to calm her down.

"Mum, you're enabling her!" This has become the new buzz word in our household, (thanks @bayaBlue for introducing me to that show!) and it's been used a lot these days.

"I am not!"

"You so are!"

Dyls said, "Don't worry grandma, we'll put some lamb on a plate in front of the TV and when uncle is commentating or whatever, he can virtually have some?" She didn't get it. He asked me to translate, despite his pretty good attempt. I refused on the grounds my kid was enabling her. Payback.

He'd had three shots of cognac by this time and a few gulps of wine, (do I sip this or have it all at once like a shot?) the most alcohol he's consumed since turning 18. I was rather enjoying this side of him. But.

"Hey, if uncle's not going to be there, can I invite some friends from Uni?"

"I guess? Sure, why not. You guys can hang out in the garage, right?

"I was thinking my Asian friend? And Nick? You know, the one who's thirty five?

"Maybe not him hun? Your auntie's sister's going to be there..."

"Well he's not rich, so she won't go for him. He's safe." He paused for a second. "You know, she's in her forties now right? Those rich dudes she's chasing and waiting to marry? Getting a little old for them right? If they're rich, they're gonna want some young girl with-"

"Stop drinking!"

"The wine's shit. Hey, am I allowed to take my jacket off?"

"You got deodorant on?"

"I smell like a frigging Christmas tree so yes!"

We'd gone to the Health Food shop earlier in the week and he'd picked an aluminium-free one, with the exotic name of "Cedar Woods" - something I'd warned against but hey - when does he listen? Twenty four dollars later... Christmas followed him everywhere.

Jacket came off.

"Take the tie off too babe." He removed the tie.

"Also undo the shirt buttons and roll up the sleeves. Formalities are over."

"Now you tell me? Thanks a lot!"

"And when you spot your uncle getting up, that's our cue to go right?"

"Yeah but then he's got a room full of people who will want to shake his hand all over again. Can I catch the train home now?"

"No?"

"Why not?"

"You need to help get grandpa in the car,"

"The left side window buttons don't work now remember? I have to sit behind him without the window open!"

"Tough titties."

"Mum! That's so inappropriate!"

"Stop using big words!"

"That's my line. You can't steal my line! And have you told people that's my line?"

"I always give credit to you in my stories!"

"I bet you don't! I bet you steal all my ideas!"

"If you bothered to read anything-"

"Hey, just because you write, doesn't mean I have to read, right? Wait - you know which right I mean right?"

"Stop drinking!"

"I'm not driving ha-ha!"

I went outside as my brother had 'walked' dad out for a smoke. I took over and he wandered off, again to face a rapidly growing crowd of fans. My mother's best friend approached me.

"Are you feeling well dear?"  She was the one who'd seen my coffee cup a few days ago, where this weird smiley face had appeared. She'd frowned then, mumbling something about death and bad luck... but then she'd quickly turned it around, claiming a smiley face was a good sign. She read coffee cups. Apparently she was quite good at it.

"Not really, since that day - with the cup, you know? Been really down; dark, broody. Sad?"

"You have been given the evil eye. I can feel it. Follow me."

She led me around the corner. There she began whispering some incoherent words and spitting to the side a few times. Then she ran her fingers across my temples seven times. After that, she kinda swayed, and I reached out to grab her. She was struggling to breathe, which had been my problem the past few days?

"You had the evil eye. You will feel better now."

"Dylan, I had the evil eye, can you believe it?"

Back at the table, having manoevered dad to his very damp seat, I began to tell him.

"Stop! You're worse than grandma with her dreams now! I don't want to hear superstitious crap!"

"You should have seen her though... like she took whatever was inside me and it ended up in her!"

"Hey if you wanna believe, go for it."

We finally managed to leave. This after one of the deceased's sons-in-law did the 'pretend to kiss on the cheek but last minute turn so that it ends up being a half-lip kiss'? I'd pegged him as a player years ago. What is it with rich, good looking and powerful men thinking this gives them extra privileges? I came very close to kneeing him in the nuts. Only he was much taller and I would have missed the point.

The ride home was a mix of Christmas and a back alley where homeless drunks hang out.

Marcus hates funerals. He greeted us at the door.

"So what's for dinner mum?"

"Air."

One look at me and there was no reply. He wandered off, rummaging in the pantry.

I slept at seven. Finally able to take some pain meds. Weird thing is I woke today to the most wonderful news imaginable. News I can't share, but trust me, I am floating.

Maybe I had been given the evil eye, thus my bouts of SVT and the dark mood all week? Maybe this would also fix the WP glitch???

So that was a funeral.