High mourning.

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My mind was abruptly called back to the recent past this morning when I read @sissy15 ‘s post about wondering about in graveyards - those who know me will recall that I used to live beside a graveyard. I shared with Sissy how young couples used to cavort in naked fashion by the light of the silvery moon in that graveyard when the mist came down and they thought no-one could see them. But now I remember also that being bewildered for a while as to why young people would frequently come to visit one particular grave. They always came alone, stayed a few moments, bent down to rearrange the fresh flowers that were always on the grave, then leave. One day as I watched from my upstairs bathroom window I noted how furtively one young man was behaving as he paid his respects, always looking over his shoulder. When he left I went over to the popular grave and saw that the flower vase was sitting lopsidedly. As I tried to straighten it it toppled over revealing a small plastic pouch - this was where local drug dealers made deliveries to be picked up by customers. The cheek of it! I soon put a stop to the nonsense and Billy Macadam has been able to rest easy in his grave ever since.