Many years ago I was in a village churchyard in the middle of England. It was very early on a beautiful summer morning. The church was Norman, and – rare, this – had a round tower.
My ancestors were scattered around. THE Guv’nor who started it all had his own chapel, he was lying there in marble, with his marble lady beside him. He was a Norman thug trying to cosy up to God.
I thought… what is it all about? At such times we ask ourselves that. I wrote a poem.
When all the ripping and the roaring is done,
When all the drink is drunk, and all the songs are sung,
I want a memory with another,
A memory as one.
I hope you have a memory as one. If not, I wish you luck in finding that memory. You see, it does not matter how famous you are. How rich you are. How beautiful you are. The only thing that matters is the person lying beside you in bed, being as one. It isn’t easy. It’s hard work.
But in the end it is everything.
Catch up with the most recent episode of The Storyteller HERE.