We were at a funeral this morning.
Thankfully it wasn't really one of those sad funerals - not meaning to sound flippant you understand - but the dearly departed was 105 years of age. That's about as good as it gets I reckon. I hadn't actually met her, she lived next door and wasn't really leaving the house much in the last year or so, since we moved in next door actually. These two facts may be related.
But, it sounded like she had a pretty good life, and we were happy to pay our respects.
I say we - I'm referring to me and Baby Oubliette. And I think Baby Oub wasn't really taking in the solemnity of the occasion. I think I was paying my respects and she was thinking about how boring it was in this big, cold building.
This became apparent when, clear as a bell, as the centenarian's son-in-law was delivering a touching eulogy, she sang out, word (and note) perfect -
'We will, we will, Rock you!"
Baby Oub like all the Oub offspring (in their day) suffers from speech delay. (I guess I shouldn't put them in front of the telly, with soothers and not talk to them ever. It may not help.)
Why-oh-why did she choose this moment to find her voice? To embarrass me of course. She may be only two and a half, but she's got that one down pat.