Xan's Menagerie Reblogs

Reblogs - for my actual writing, head over to https://xansmenagerie.tumblr.com/. She/they/whatever, too old for this nonsense.

[xansmenageriereblogs]

Hi! This is the reblogging, chatting and general not-my-writing Tumblr for Xan's Menagerie. I'm a physicist turned software engineer, gardener, wildlife botherer, writer, and lover of the Oxford comma*.

You can also find me on AO3 although most of my fic is not even vaguely fandom-related so it's a bit sparse.

*If you got that joke, I'm not sure who should be more ashamed.

[elodieunderglass]

Package containing three reusable silicone lids for preserving supermarket hummus, which cost very little and which I honestly don’t give a fig about: we’ve posted your parcel. (we’ve posted your parcel.) your parcel is posted. Your parcel is posted. Your parcel is moving. Tracking number for your parcel. Your parcel is being hand-carried to the depot by a courier named GREG. Your parcel is nestled gently at the DEPOT. Your parcel has been fed and watered and given a comfort break. Your parcel’s overnight nurse is named DILYS. She has twelve years of experience and a qualification. She reports YOUR PARCEL is DOING WELL. YOUR PARCEL HAS LEFT THE BUILDING. YOUR PARCEL HAS LEFT THE BUILDING. Your courier is named MERVYN and he is an AQUARIUS. your parcel is due at 12:13. We apologise. Your parcel is due at 12:17. This is due to MERVYN encountering ROADWORKS. Your parcel is circling. MERVYN is on your street. MERVYN IS HERE. Here is a photo of your feet with the parcel. Your parcel ARRIVED. how did you like MERVYN. Was he okay. Would you use him again. Would you trust Dilys to safeguard the following: a glass case containing a crystal gem / a balloon / a bucket of water. Your parcel was four minutes late. We’ll email you forever now. Do you like this

Package containing fragile and valuable birthday present to myself, anxiously awaited: due date of FUCKOFF Posted NEVER 💅

[elodieunderglass]

Tags that made me laugh

[elodieunderglass]

The scientific versions of this make me feel very glad that I’m no longer a lab rat, as the life-defining version of this for me was when I was a young lab rat tasked with tracking down an extremely defrosted armadillo from Texas.

When the consignment of armadillo parts - decorously placed upon dry ice, in accordance with the finest scientific principles - was shipped to a young British scientist and summarily lost in transit, it was one of those academic problems. You know what I mean by that. That means: Problems that only happen to academics.

The late armadillo was too late. Despite earnest emails promising that it had arrived a few days before, this was meant in a sort of spiritual sense, and what you might refer to as the “material” aspect of the dead armadillo manifested many days later. This was the subject of some fraught discussions between the ivory tower and the US Navy, who said rather stiffly that they had shipped a dead armadillo in perfectly sensible dead condition to us, and had no idea why the American postal service had interpreted their instructions as “send the dead armadillo on a quirky little road trip and lie about it.”

Intense discussions about the dead armadillo revealed the US Navy had no sense of humour about Schrödinger’s Armadillo (“we sent you a dead armadillo, and have washed our hands of any downstream issues”) as well as their rather uptight announcement that they would not be sending us any more free dead armadillos unless we could prove that WE were not in the habit of carelessly losing them. The implication being that this important military armadillo corpse had been lost entirely because the postal service had received it in a spirit of unbecoming whimsy, and this was the fault of Elodie, lab rat and designated representative of the United States Postal Service. As the military arm of the imperial core are naturally the primary suppliers of high-quality scientifically reliable dead armadillos, this censorious and frankly ungenerous cooling-off was a topic of some consternation.

Elodie, a very young person at the time, who rather fancied the British postdoc who looked so enthralling in riding breeches, was thus tasked with tremulously arguing with the Navy about how grateful we were for everything, but how fresh armadillos were far more academically interesting, while we were on the topic, if they didn’t mind, and if they could spare another one, if we promised not to allow the mail to become whimsical.!

The academically interesting part of the metaphysical armadillo was eventually run to ground significantly after the point at which the dry ice had become academic. The state of the armadillo inside the box at that point was an extremely academic problem. The late armadillo had become so late that it had surpassed biological interest, yet had not quite entered the realm of palaeontological significance. It was, however, a stage of lateness that was officially Too Late. It smelled of an unusual kind of death, simultaneously pork and mouse.

As the most junior of junior lab rats, it fell on me at the time to sneak the box into the medical waste in someone else’s laboratory (as is only honourable.)

however, I did marry the guy I did it for, so all’s well that ends late

[dkettchen]

I made a new flyer for my research project 📋

LINK TO THE SURVEY

The survey will be open until at least the end of 2026 if not beyond. Only these 14 measurements are required, all the others are optional:

If you have been on HRT for at least 3 years, have half an hour and a measuring tape, consider taking the survey!

If you don't qualify or don't feel up to participating feel free to share it :)

I will also be at various UK pride events this summer either walking around with a sign handing out flyers or having a stall where people can come get measured in person! Come say hi :)

[dkettchen]

PSA to read our documentation and FAQ if you have questions as they tend to already be covered in there :)

[dkettchen]

"best tags to wake up to" award goes to this person today:

*tucks hair behind ear* complimenting my methodology, shucks! why thank you, I ran trans support groups for 3 years and work as a data professional lmao (also again I have to stress, I am not officially affiliated with any of the groups they're referring to, any support is informal and the uni funding we received is seed funding from an incubator programme, not actual research funding)

[teaboot]

On of the less intuitive things about love, I've found, of any kind, is the importance of needing things.

I didn't realize it until recently, but I've always seen love as something requiring sacrifice, selflessness, patience, and generosity- to ask for nothing is to be the best person I can be, small and quiet and never in the way, always happy and helpful, self-sufficient and present when desired.

It's only as an adult, now, that I'm beginning to see the selfishness of wanting nothing.

I cut my friend's hair in my kitchen the other day. They wanted a trim and I had the skills, so I offered, and was genuinely excited when they stopped hesitating over "bothering me" and took me up on it. It was a peaceful afternoon, and we had tea and chatted for an hour or more.

My brother and I shared popcorn at the movies a while ago. When I came time to pay, I pulled my card out like a wild western sheriff and slapped it on the machine before he could fight me for it first. The satisfaction was delightful.

Someone called me crying on the phone the other day. Kept apologizing for disturbing me at work, talking about how they were bothering me on my lunch break. I was telling the truth when I told them that really, I was flattered and honored and relieved, knowing that if they were hurting I would know, that I didn't have to worry in silence. It felt good to hear them slowly come down, and to know that they knew it would be better soon, and to hear them laugh wetly on the other end. We're getting together for a visit next week.

It's hard to need things, if you've trained yourself not to. It's hard to want things, when you don't know how to want anymore. Trusting people is difficult, and so is relying on them, but I don't know where I'd be without the people who rely on me.

I've heard a lot of people say, "Nobody will love you unless you love yourself". I've had a lot of thoughts about it. It's not right, but it's not wrong, either, I think.

"Nobody will love you unless you love yourself"... I've always taken that to mean, "You will not be lovable until you develop a positive view of yourself as a person".

Now, I think it's sort of inside-out.

"Nobody will love you unless you love yourself"... because nobody can show their love to you in a way that you can accept until you treat yourself kindly, and learn what you need, and what you want, and how to ask for it, and then give that vulnerability away.

Love, for me, is someone I ask for a ride to the airport. Whether they end up doing this or not is irrelevant.

It's not needy, or selfish, or taking up energy. It's giving the gift of being wanted, and needed, and thought of. It's giving someone the security of being part of someone's life.

[tiktoks-i-enjoyed]

[ghostlyss]

Also Canadian Comedian Colin Mochrie and his daughter Kinley!

[hauntedchronicler]

also david tennant - his family is very private when it comes to photos, but one of his children is nonbinary & he's been extremely vocally supportive

Sade also wrote a song for her son, which is absolutely worth a listen if you want to Cry A Lot

[burning-gray-mon]

"The mural that upset a thousand TERFS." Lush Pride mural artist responds to calls for artwork to be removed

A Pride mural in a Lush shop window has sparked a wave of attention, with its creator highlighting its message of trans pride and visibility

[transfemme-shelterdog]

That mural fucks hard and honestly of all animals to give top surgery scars to, a tiger is the best fit.

I hope it stays up.

[genderkoolaid]

^ here's the full thing!

[willabnormal]

If you have a UK address there is a gov.uk petition at the moment for an investigation into the effects of Section 28.

Section 28 banned the mention of or "promotion" of being gay within schools and ushered in decades of silence and violence in this country. Its impact is currently unrecorded, but keenly felt. With the UK currently banning the discussion of being transgender in schools, libraries and other public spaces, along with the bathrooms guidance, we run a risk of repetition. We need statistics on what Section 28 did to two generations of queer people.

Please sign if you can, it needs 100,000 signatures to be considered. Non-UK residents please reblog.

Petition: Launch a public inquiry into the impact of Section 28 on LGBTQ people

We call on the Government to launch a public inquiry into the impact of Section 28 of the Local Government Act (1988) which specified that L

[skelotan]

Dedicated to my cat, who is very vocal about my bed time.

PATREON

[stahsm]

Overlock Stitch by @clothes_reetzy

[thatisuseful]

Damn, that's useful

[fluidstatick]

Finally a hand sewing tutorial on a hemline that isn't just the ladder stitch! the ladder stitch disappears when you tighten it, but it's not meant for hemlines because it breaks really easily! The overlock stitch is more stable, so it holds much longer, and it won't pucker or warp the fabric!

[willabnormal]

If you have a UK address there is a gov.uk petition at the moment for an investigation into the effects of Section 28.

Section 28 banned the mention of or "promotion" of being gay within schools and ushered in decades of silence and violence in this country. Its impact is currently unrecorded, but keenly felt. With the UK currently banning the discussion of being transgender in schools, libraries and other public spaces, along with the bathrooms guidance, we run a risk of repetition. We need statistics on what Section 28 did to two generations of queer people.

Please sign if you can, it needs 100,000 signatures to be considered. Non-UK residents please reblog.

Petition: Launch a public inquiry into the impact of Section 28 on LGBTQ people

We call on the Government to launch a public inquiry into the impact of Section 28 of the Local Government Act (1988) which specified that L

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

I need mayonnaise for the egg salad I want to make but I'm putting off making mayonnaise because it is such an oily process. Cleaning fresh mayonnaise off your blender etc. is just. The worst.

[beezlebum]

You can just put a little bit of dish soap and water in the blender and run it after, ya? You can even do it multiple times if the first time doesn't quite clear it. Then just rinse it and wash the outside.

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

I know how to clean a blender.

[ineffectualdemon]

You are rightly annoyed Derin but actually I'm 42 and I have never realised I could clean a blender that way. Like I cleaned them but that could have saved me a lot of time when I had a normal blender

(now I have a smoothie blender and it's a lot easier to clean)

That reply hit the wrong adult

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

The fun part is that I make mayo with an immersion blender. Fresh homemade mayo is unfortunately sticky gooey bullshit on any tool you use, no matter what cleaning tricks you use. Cleaning the jug also sucks.

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

#my Dad washed his blender by running it with soapy water and then washing the outside before he met my Mom#when she disassembled it it had an ungodly amount of mold on the inside#take that blender apart to properly clean it sometimes

Yes good point you should also disassemble all disassemblable parts of a blender to clean them. The rule of thumb is that any kitchen appliance you own that's designed to be assembled by you for use (as in, stuff with lids or blades that screw in or handles that clip on, not stuff like taking a screwdriver to your saucepan's handles) should be disassembled and all parts washed separately. Yes, this includes the removable rubber rings that come in some food storage containers.

Anything that can be disassembled but isn't expected to (can openers, the aforementioned saucepan handles, etc.) should be checked regularly and you should be prepared to disassemble and clean it if it proves necessary, but you shouldn't have to do this often.

I think Beezle meant to run dishwater through the blender before disassembly to get rid of most of the gunk, and then disassemble and clean it properly. This is my go-to method for cleaning blenders as it keeps your sink of water and your cleaning tools a lot cleaner, maximising the amount of dishes you can clean with one sink of water (can you tell I grew up with water restrictions?). Simply blending dishwater should never be your whole blender cleaning process. Even ones without removable seals, like smoothie or immersion blenders, need to be cleaned properly under their blades and soforth; ones with removable seals need the seals removed and cleaned. Anything screw-on needs to be screwed off so that you can clean the threads; spilled liquids often get trapped in there.

You should also, obviously, not reassemble your device until all parts are completely dry.

[xansmenageriereblogs]

Given mayo is oil-based, you can improve on the dishwater pre-cleaning technique with a sufficiently strong base to trigger saponification.

It's just a question of what's appropriate to household appliances rather than full-scale industrial process at that point; I know that sodium hydroxide is the traditional one for flushing the lines in chocolate factories, for instance, but I don't know the strength nor what it would do to a blender...

[inkskinned]

she is a princess and you are a dragon. she will be married tonight. do not keep standing outside of her room like that, go inside. go get her. that is what proper dragons do.

not that you have ever been a good or proper dragon. when you hatched out of your egg, your eggtooth was too smooth. the other dragons were rough with you, put little holes in your wings.

you were not bold. you were odd. you liked rippling water and the shine of chitin when bugs scuttle and of course the movement of the stars. those were all acceptable interests albeit maybe not traditional. perhaps you had inherited these through some great-great-uncle or something. certainly a dragon may be wise, or clever, if they are not bold.

yes, you have been a great deal of a puzzle to the other dragons. your body is smaller and rather more soft than it ought to be. so speed should have been yours, perhaps - your mother said it would be like fighting a shadow. if a dragon is not aggressive, it may instead be cruel, sly; a backstab. but alas your scales - so iridescent that they almost shine like the moon at night, a glow from within - you are not a shadow, you are a beacon like the flash of a knight's blade. your father has said at least you would make a fine egglayer, a nice mate to a good male. a dragon like you may still be a good mother perhaps; and that is a fine thing to be; although of course it would have been better if you'd been a trove-hoarder instead.

what a dragon must not be is kind.

you have watched her now for six moons. what a good and proper dragon would do is to go inside and to snatch her. a very proper dragon would have kidnapped her many times over, but you will be the delight of your brood to princess-snatch even at all. when you catch her in your jaws and bring her home, they will love you, then. they don't think you're capable of it, but you are, because you're a proper dragon. you can show them that. if you go in, now, right now.

you are rather too glossy to hide in the shadows, so instead you have learned how to appear flat and round, a puddle of light. (how your siblings would mock you! a dragon should be matte, to blend with the night). you dapple your flank with mud. you perch in odd angles atop of trees, scuttle like the bugs you love - hither, tither, frantic.

what you must not do is fly with your wings full-out. alight, you will be limned by the moon's corona. you will be a beacon. you must remember this when (not if) you snatch her.

____

you found her because of the lake. this lake in particular was your favorite - nestled deep in the woods, between two mountains. it is very quiet; there is nothing to horde there so no other dragon bothers you. a gentle waterfall spills over into a deep cove, and there are many mossy caves you've spent your afternoons napping in. while it is not proper for a dragon to prefer such things, you like to lay in rolling tenure just under the water. you have become excellent at holding your breath, can do it for hours. it is the easiest way to appear as a patch of sunlight.

she was not sunlight. she was the night's joy. the dark press of water. her face at first concealed by many diaphanous layers. her breathing quick and quiet.

she had pulled them back to drink from her water flask. and there she had been: a princess. your first very-real princess. right there, only the reach of a single talon from you. if you had simply lunged then, you would have been able to take her easily, in one single movement.

but you did not take her.

she had startled you a bit; you'd been daydreaming about music, which you'd just discovered, and rather liked. you'd heard it from a little house while you snuck in and stole their sheep.

but you knew the sound of fear, of being followed. you'd been chased too many times, you knew what it looked like. the rapid jolt of fear.

you smelled her then; cinnamon and onyx, and perhaps that was what had blinded you. perhaps your mouth was just watering. whatever the case, you waited until she had fled back into the forest; and then you waited a bit longer. in her wake, a garrison of men, their hands rough.

oh. so they were not knights. they were just men chasing a young woman through the woods. perhaps they did not even know a real princess had been running from them. well, that was a relief. you are not good at fighting with knights, who have swords instead of cudgels. these were just men, so you rose from the water in the quiet way you'd learned from the fish. they did not hear you coming.

and besides. proper dragons do violence so well.

___

once you had smelled her you could find her, although such things have always been easier for you than for the others. you spend a great deal of time studying things - it allows you to analyze them. you have tried to explain to the other dragons that sometimes it is best to slow down, but of course no dragon should be slow.

at first you did not understand the confusion of the people's umwelt. they relied so much on their communication (only words and actions!) and what they could see with their eyes. you and the other dragons did not use these as much; but you liked prying out the little sonic differences between hello that means "i like you" and hello that means "i don't like you."

so it took you a while to learn that you were responsible for what had happened to her. men had gone missing, and even bad men going missing makes a big fuss. (you know that if it had been girls missing, it would be okay. many proper dragons steal girls because it will not bring a knight to their door). for a while she had been trapped on the palace grounds. it was determined that it was no longer safe for her to be just a princess, she must undergo some human transformation and become a wife.

and then you saw her descending from the window of a castle, quick and agile, moving like a whisper, clad almost entirely in black. you could see her quite well of course, although you were not seeing her; but instead her heat and her smell and her sound and all the other sensory noise all humans give off.

you followed her, keeping yourself in a cloud so you appeared as if mist. she stole off into the woods. you were interested in that, and watched her scuttle - although of course you could have taken her then. she did not seem to do much in the woods, only run around cry into her little hands.

she appeared to be looking for something. she did not get far that first night; scurried back to her bed. over and over this happened - she would run as far as she could, only to go back again. it seemed rather boring to you, but of course you had been free your whole life.

and then one night - finally, she arrived at the lake. she sank to her knees then, her hands pressing into the water. her head tilted to the sky. her dark hair spilling in a caught breath behind her.

this is how you heard her voice for the first time. when she came again the next night, she did so more quickly, more assured. straight to the lake, as if it had called her.

she had skipped a pebble over the surface of the water. this action was dangerous, because it almost hit the sail of your wing. you had structured yourself very finely to look like a rockslide.

"three months." her voice was like her: it was deep and smooth and dark, a low violin string. "they want me to marry that bastard in three months."

and then she cried into her hands again, and the sound of it almost broke you.

so you followed her maybe more than a proper dragon should, then. more than back to the castle. you hid along her daily walks and watched her in the throne room and saw her out riding horses. she was good with dogs and nice to her people and very much a proper princess, although you know a proper princess ought not to slip out at night and run around barefoot through the woods.

you discovered she is terrible with directions. you have often had to make a path more clear so she could get home again. she cannot hunt better than an egg; you have had to kill fish and push them subtly up to the shore.

but she appears to love the lake as much as you do. you have seen her read by candlelight (how foolish. the entire woods saw her each time). you have seen her build little paper boats to float along the surface. you have seen her strip her many layers and dive in, have seen her lay with her belly to the sky, floating like she is suspended by the hands of darkness itself.

oh. so she loves the stars, as well, then.

__

you must go in. she will be married tonight. that is a human thing, but you have learned what it has meant. she will go to somewhere else, and you will not see her again, maybe ever. and then how will you be a proper dragon? go!

you have made yourself in the form of a gargoyle, hiding in the white stone. you can see into her room; and the tapestries that seem unlike her. everything in her room is very bright, which is bad for a proper dragon. there are many knights in the hallways and in their rooms, and their smell is itchy and repugnant to you.

her dress is white, which does not seem like her. you have only seen her wear black. she is sitting at some kind of desk, and she is crying again. she smells of cinnamon still, but moreso of grief. you can feel the heartbreak in her as if it was inside of you.

you cannot watch her cry anymore. you have watched too often without moving. that is shameful.

you nose the door open. you can move quiet, because you are not very big. she is within a cave of you, then a wingtip, and then she is standing up, looking into your eyes.

"it's you." her hand on your jaw is warm. "i thought i was imagining you, you know. i turned around that day. i saw what you did to those men. i have been looking for you since. i told everyone that i had an angel to protect me. they locked me in here anyway."

you are not an angel, you are a dragon. you have to keep your wings locked tight or you would explode the walls of this place. it makes you feel big, suddenly. you are not used to that sensation. you do not like to be locked in a tower. you believe maybe the princess does not like to be locked in a tower either.

you take her in your jaws. she is very small, and does not resist you. although you are not a strong flyer, you must take off in a single push. any other movement would be too slow. you must also hold your breath so you do not smell her, the clove and cinnamon and little bird of hope. your mouth would water and you would drop her.

against the full moon, you do the thing that is impossible. you stretch yourself out all the way, a bold and beaming arrow, and you fly. you can hear them cry about you now, loudly. a banner that would strike pride even into your father: dragon. dragon. dragon.

on the eve of her wedding, you snatch the princess from her tower.

an arrow whisks for you, and then dozens, and then hundreds. you are not afraid of pain. you have learned long ago how to fly with holes in your wings. you hold her very gently still, and you push past the smell of your blood.

in the night you are a star. someone somewhere could look up and see you and make a wish.

there will be another lake, you decide. you can find another lake. somewhere very, very far from here. however long you must fly, however long you must hold your breath: you will take her home, because you are a proper dragon.

___

sometimes they come for her, your treasure. you have built her a little castle here, deep in the forests off the map. and of course for you: a silver round lake like the shift of her iris. you bring her books and she brings you bugs to study. you let her saddle you, and together you ride through the clouds and fog banks. she is a shadow on your back; a warm and velvet thing. she makes you music and lives the way she should; free in the night like a promise.

but they do come. you have stolen a real princess, and they do not want her to be a princess. they want to make her into a brood mother, or into bait, or into prey. they always look into the caves first; into the places proper dragons stay. they are real knights, not just men with sticks. they are loud and their smell still makes you itch.

but she has made you brave now, and cunning. if a dragon is not big, it should be cunning. and since you are a proper dragon, and since your treasure is your most precious thing, you lay in wait.

let them come. you will let the light drip off of you, and then you will pour through them.

afterwards, your princess will tell you a story around the fire. she will patch your wounds as she did that first time. she will sing to you.

and in that moment, neither of you will be a title nor a story. she will just be herself, and you will just be you.

[leupagus]

by Resonant

I haven’t read this essay in… twelve years? I think? But someone (ETA: that someone was @whetherwoman who deserves the credit) linked it today and rereading it was a) a treat and b) honestly really helpful. If you, like me, want to write smut but often find it difficult, this essay may help a LOT.

[leupagus]

Reblogging this as I periodically do because it’s still relevant (especially with so many new writers coming into fandom spaces who are SO ENTHUSIASTIC but maybe need some pointers?) and because I myself need the reminder. Wherever you are, Res, I hope you’re doing great.

[petymology]

yay! Thanks, @leupagus !

The tips are on ao3 now, and I’m Res but on tumblr.

How To Write a Sex Scene (2619 words) by Resonant Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Original Work Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: Meta, Don’t copy to another site, Writing Summary: Four tips for creating better sex scenes in erotic romance.

[leupagus]

omg

[mcnostril]

The real treasure was the fancy hat we found along the way.

As a rule of thumb, if you have to dig it up it's a crime, but if you can just yoink it then it's a-okay.

PS: Please note that some steps of the Troll Dance® were simplified for artistic purposes and I am not responsible for any of your characters being turned into sauce.

[dragon-in-a-fez]

today's reason I fucking love the open source community: Ageless Linux, a brand new Debian-based operating system specifically designed to break the law by giving children access to computers that explicitly refuse to track their age.

[dragon-in-a-fez]

reblog this post to help a child break the law

[0x5742]

oh goddamn this whole page goes so hard actually, please go read it. what an impressive, visceral takedown of this dumb law

[old-emajarian]

Emily Majarian

‘Polly Von’

For Month of Love 2018 “White”

I shall tell of a hunter whose life was undone

By the cruel hand of evil at the setting of the sun

His arrow was loosed and it flew through the dark,

And his true love was slain as the shaft found its mark.

She’d her apron wrapped about her and he took her for a swan,

But it’s oh and alas, it was she, Polly Von.

- Peter, Paul & Mary, Polly Von

[xansmenageriereblogs]

[misfitwashere]

I wrote a eulogy

"I wrote a eulogy for my best friend last week. Then I read it to him. At the pub. On a Tuesday."

He was alive, holding a pint, looking at me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I have.

I'm Mick. I'm 70. The man across the table was Barry. Seventy-two. Best mate for 46 years. Met on a building site in 1979. He dropped a plank on my foot. I called him something unrepeatable. He bought me a pint after the shift. Haven't gone a week without talking since.

Three months ago we went to a funeral. Bloke we'd worked with. Cancer. The eulogies were beautiful - people saying what he meant to them, things they'd clearly never said to his face. And all I could think was, he can't hear any of this.

Every beautiful sentence. Every "he changed my life." Said to a room of crying people and a box of wood.

I turned to Barry. Whispered, "What a waste."

Drove home. Couldn't sleep. Because I realised, if Barry died tomorrow, I'd stand up and say extraordinary things about this man. Things I've never said in 46 years. And he'd be in the box, missing all of it.

So I wrote them down. Took a week. Harder than expected - not finding the words, but admitting I had them.

Rang him. "Tuesday. The Crown. Need to read you something."

"Have you joined a book club?"

"Just come."

Same corner table. Pint of bitter. Crisps. I pulled out the paper. He saw my hands shake.

"Mick. What's this?"

"Your eulogy. I'm reading it now because I'm not wasting it on a day you can't hear it."

"Have you gone mad?"

"Probably. Shut up and listen."

I read it. In a pub. To a man very much alive and very much uncomfortable.

I told him about the plank and how it was the best injury of my life. About the night he drove forty minutes in rain to help change a tyre. About how he rang every day for three months after my divorce and never once asked "Are you alright?" - just talked about football and weather, because he knew I didn't need a question. I needed a voice.

I told him he was the funniest man I'd ever known and his jokes were terrible and both things were true. That he'd been a better father than he thinks. That his wife's a saint and he knows it. That I'd have been a worse man without him.

He didn't look at me. Stared at his pint. Jaw tight. Doing that thing men do when the feelings arrive and they'd rather swallow glass than show it.

When I finished, long silence. Then he picked up his pint, took a sip, and said,

"You're paying for the next round. And the one after."

That was his answer. Perfect. Because Barry doesn't say "I love you too." He says "you're buying."

But in the car park, he hugged me. Not the quick back-pat. A real one. Thirty seconds. Neither let go first.

And he said quietly into my shoulder, "Don't read that again at the real one. I want new material."

Who would you write a eulogy for - while they're still here?

Don't wait. The flowers can't hear. The box doesn't laugh. Say it now. At the pub. Over a bad cup of tea. You'll feel ridiculous.

They'll look uncomfortable. It'll be the most important thing you've ever done.

Read them the speech while they can still hug you in the car park.”

.