Island Funerals and more on weights

It was Glady's (Gladys Robinson) funeral today -- an islander we were fortunate to get to know a little - with more than 90 years of Island life behind her. She was born and grew up on Vansittart Island in the Franklin sounds, born when a sailboat was the only way off, when salted muttonbird was a major food item (no fridge or freezer) - intelligent and a reader (and razor witted to the end), she had only ever been to school for two years. Shows what you can do without, and still achieve. She was obviously much loved as Lady Barron (and a lot of the island) were at the church. It only seats about 25, so people spilled out onto the grass and even onto the road. From where your spirit is, Glady, I am sure you can see Vansittart still.

For those of us not born here, they say the only way you know if you're an islander is by how many people show at your funeral...

I went up to Jamie's place to try and make more dive weights. Alas, we managed to break the mold. Anyway, I have 4 more. On the way home, I tested the new roo-bar (depite driving slowly and avoiding hitting more than 30.) I conclude the local wallaby are either suicidal or thick... I really glad it was there.

I'm off to bed. Got up at 3 to spear flounder...