Expiry dates come and go but nothing lasts forever

Sometimes it’s hard to let go but in a week of fond farewells for an old friend Fiona celebrates the healing powers of a good send-off

How long does a thing last? That prosciutto ham we bought at Christmas has seen better days. The question is, do we just bin it?

Or do we cut off the mouldy bits and hope for the best underneath? And if we go down that route, will we end up poisoning people as I pass it round with the breadsticks?

Those older and wiser among us poohoo this wimpish way of watching what we eat. They laugh in the face of sell-by dates.

In 2000 my then mother-in-law served a delicious lemon curd with her home made scones. On closer inspection of the jar, it said “eat by 1994”.

When told to find something for tea in another mother-in-law’s freezer – yes, I have been married twice – I discovered a Christmas cake that was 30 years old.

When my father recently came to visit, he found the chief with a cold and helpfully produced a Lemsip from his bag. The sachet was well worn. It was dated 1999.

Needless to say we take it graciously – then quietly dispose of it. Food is one thing. Medicine is another. Sadly, not everything lasts and this week we find ourselves at a service to remember a friend. Lynnie was just 63 when she died of heart failure in mainland Europe.

Lynnie was cremated in Austria. But as a good part of her life was lived in Wiltshire, we travel south to scatter her ashes on Salisbury Plain.

Twenty people and a similar number of English Naughties set off to walk the half mile to our destination. We go from the village where she stayed to the grassy stretch where she walked Jack, her beloved Cairn terrier.

The sun shines, as it so often does in that part of the world. The blossom is on the trees. They are a good month ahead of us in this part of the world.

The dogs run hither and thither. Among them is a setter and terrier cross.

At the top of the hill a eulogy is read. I know what to expect. I have known Lynnie for a quarter of a century.

It is fair to say she was not a conventional lady.

I remember she was a gifted skater and part of the famous TV Dancing on Ice team.

I recall that she loved cigarettes, whisky – and a good party. What I did not know was that she had once been the girlfriend of a member of Led Zeppelin.

The sun shines, as it so often does in that part of the world. The blossom is on the trees

We stand for a moment’s silence. Then Lynnie is set free.

Some ashes fly wild, others hug the ground. Remarkably not a single dog tries to roll in them. Although Lynnie would have appreciated the humour in that.

Dogs safely back in cars we descend on the pub for a continental lunch; salami and olives, pitta bread and dips.

Lynnie’s picture is on the table. We reminisce and we drink rather a lot of wine.

Again, she would have approved.