We finally buried Julia. On Sunday her ashes were interred along with those of her mother and Mrs Soots the cat, beneath a weeping lime. It was a glorious morning - crisp early autumn filled with light. Madrigals were sung and Steffan read The Dorking Thigh. We covered Julia's ashes with rose petals, rosemary and a helping of Sam Smith's Ale. At the end of the ceremony a frog hopped its merry way through the grass. Of course I opened a bottle of her wine that evening. It is what she would have wanted.