P.S.

I seldom explain.

I am going to bend that rule in my life, and do so now.

My father had his Military service two years ago, with his grandchildren, including the newly christened Marine, the Jarhead, in his full dress blues, directly following his death.

With Katrina, and the chaos following, his placement in the family grave was put off. It wasn't just Katrina, I realise now, it was also my reluctance to... let go.

The price quoted to me to dig a small hole was astronomical... and dad would have build himself into an agnostic Golem to beat me to death if I'd paid it... swinging his cane at me... and saying, "QUIN!! Dig that yourself! That's my girl... you can do this."

And, I did, Dad. I did.