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It's more than six months since I last wrote up my blog.

I've thought a lot about why I stopped and it's definitely connected to dad's death and my leaving of my father's house, physically and emotionally.  At one level I never wanted dad to read my blog, but in another way it actually was for him.  I was accounting for my actions to my parents, like I'd done throughout my life.  Do we all do this or am I queer?  An issue I've come to reflect on in a more general sense since dad died.

I shall tell the story of the last few months in pictures.

In September 2015 I moved from dad's bungalow to temporary digs in Lincoln with Harry and Zack and their delightful dog Oscar, with whom I enjoyed many excellent runs along the banks of the River Witham.

In November Sue finished her contract in Borneo and returned to Puglia, where after a gap of some years we finally did our olive harvest together again.  Also that month I completed a Humanist weddings course.

In December we spent Christmas with Sue's mum and dad then returned to Puglia to celebrate the New Year with our friends Mat and Sarah from Washington.

In January we went to a memorial get together for Sue's friend Keith Ramptahal at one of his favourite haunts - the Jamie Oliver restaurant in Islington.  It was a chance for Sue to catch-up with old colleagues and we also got to hear more of the story of his final few months.

In February I took Sue for a mystery break, paid for by some old reward points on a credit card, to a rather grand palazzo in the beautiful town of Matera, an hour and half's drive from our home in Puglia.

In March we bought a two-bedroomed apartment in Dobson's Quay, an old Victorian warehouse conversion in Newark, Nottinghamshire, with the proceeds of the sale of dad's little bungalow.  It's in a great spot in the centre of town with views over the River Trent.  That month I also led my second baby naming.

Also in March I travelled up to Peebles in Scotland to conduct the funeral of our good friend Carole's dad Jack, a fine man who set a great example of how to grow old while enjoying what you've still got rather than mourning what you've lost.  I've not done a lot of funerals this year so far, but the ones I have done have been very rewarding, including my first "ashes-centred" funeral in a hotel in Lincoln and a ceremony in a restaurant near Mansfield for a fascinating man whose feisty daughters were burying him at sea the following week.

I'm currently at the apartment in Newark, while Sue is at home in Puglia experimenting with being "retired".  My head is full of stuff - plans for upgrading the apartment, which has had a hard rental life for the last fifteen years and trying to make sense of my new lifestyle bouncing too and fro between Puglia and the East Midlands.

It's a funny old life.