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Life and Vincent

Welcome to the world of the Vincent D'Onofrio obsessed - and a bit of real life thrown in.

Sunday, March 29, 2015

Final Resting Place

On Thursday Riachard III was finally buried in Leicester Cathedral. After everyone had left after the service the task began of delivering the monument that was to cover the tomb, and hoisting the solid granite slab into place.

Simple but beautiful.

Vanishing Act

I enjoyed this episode. Bobby was having such fun.

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Monday, March 23, 2015

Dick's Chapel of Rest

In 2012 an excavation in a car park in Leicester found almost with the first spadeful the remains of King Richard III, the Plantagenet king of England who was killed at the Battle of Bosworth in 1485 during the Wars of the Roses. The victor was Henry Tudor, crowned as King Henry VII.

There was a lot of scientific investigation before it could be confirmed that the remains were Richard's. This was done by genealogists tracing the descendants of Richard's sister and comparing their DNA with that of the skeleton.

Thewoman in this photo, and the man on the left, are those descendants.

The coffin was made by Michael Ibsen, the male descendant, who happens to be a cabinet maker. He is Canadian, the female descendant is Australian.

The "family" wanted the remains buried in York Minster, since Richard was a member of the House of York, but the HIgh Court ruled that he should remain in Leicester.

The cortege arrived at Leicester Cathedral on a horse-drawn carriage, after being taken from the university to Bosworth Field on a gun carriage. The King was taken with dignity across the bridge where his body was brought back into the town naked and slung across a horse's back.

He returned this time with full honours.

I watched for hours with tears in my eyes. Whether he was a devil or an angel we will never know. Things like presumption of innocence and bail come from laws passed by his only government of 1485.

Richard will lie in state in the Cathedral till his interment on Thursday.


Bobby's looking a bit stern.  photo Vacancy184.jpg

Sunday, March 15, 2015


The death of the wonderful Sir Terry Pratchett was announced on Thursday of a series of tweets from his daughter:

"Terry took Death's arm and followed him through the doors and on to the black desert under the endless night.
The end".

Anyone who has read his Discworld novels will know that Death always talks in capitals. Now he has met his creation in the non-flesh.

His death led the news on all channels, and the reports lasted for up to half the newscast. O Friday it was front-page news.

This must have been a mystery to anyone not familiar with the world he created. If that's you, it really is your loss.

The books started out as a gentle nudge at fantasy books, but turned into a view of our own world, from a skewed and very funny angle. Endlessly witty and inventive, Sir Terry created a world simultaneously like and unlike our own, which helped us to see the comedy in everyday life.

I read the first, The Colour of Magic, when it first came out, and after that never missed one. If you have never read any of the books, I suggest starting at the beginning and working your way through. I am jealous of the fascinating journey you will have before you reach the 40th and last.

Because of the popularity of the character of the Librarian at Unseen University (the wizards' university, where magic was constantly escaping from the books, and an errant spell turned the Librarian into a conveniently agile and long-armed orang utan) Terry took an interest in the fate of these creatures and visited a rescue centre in Borneo to make a TV programme. His fortune (he sold over 70 million books) helped him to support the Trust for their conservation financially.

Two other causes entered his life of necessity. Several years ago he was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimers. He made contributions to research, and took part in a film about his quest for a cure for what he called an "embuggerance". He was also passionate about assisted death, determined not to hang on beyond where his life was tolerable.

He died aged just 66, naturally, with his cat on his bed and his family around him. He was writing until relatively recently - he could only dictate his words, having lost the ability to type.

I can only repeat, if you have not read any of the Discworld novels, please give yourselves a treat. They are not his only works, but they are truly inspiring and amusing to the nth degree.

I will finish with my own favourite moment. Some Trolls who are fully accepted members of Discworld society form a group. Being rock, they are pretty thick. But when they form a (sorry) rock group, they can only manage to count themselves in by saying, "One, two, one, two, many, lots."

A modest but great man has left the planet.


Poor Bobby went through so much to be a good uncle - then later, thanks to Frank's lies, the boy's mother criticised him for not doing enough.

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