Sad Holiday

We are on holiday tomorrow and I have no idea what the internet facilities are like, so I may be gone for some time.
Flying to Paris from Exeter with our friends, 3 nights in what may be a dodgy hotel, meeting Andre for lunch on Friday (and he has never done a thing so naughty as to meet an internet chum) and then on Saturday, an early morning train to Toulon, and bus to Canadel near St Tropez. Apartment, rented from friends, but through an agency, and the freedom of the riviera for a week. The friends who have the apartment bought us lunch in St Tropez when we visited 3 years ago. By the harbour. A mere £120. hmmm.
The next Saturday, the night train from Toulon back to Paris (saving on hotel bills), flying back to Exeter Sunday Lunchtime. Never been on Forren holiday with friends before so it will be interesting to see how we get on in a small one bedroomed apartment (and having to sleep on the sofabed for a week, but with a big garden, suitable for sleeping out in the heat). M and I once had a holiday in Turkey with my son in a one bedroomed apartment, that was hard enough, what with the interruptions ahem.
Then back to reality as we must travel back to Sussex on Sunday evening for my father's funeral. Holiday and funeral dates authorised by mum, of course, generous soul that she is, and I have left her in the capable hands of my sisters (Good Sister One (formerly Bad Sister) and Good Sister Two (formerly Good Sister, who has taken mum shopping today) and her friends. She has already got a gardener to do the lawn, saving my brother in law a job, and the community are rallying around to do the catering etc. We all seem to have pulled together as a family.
I want the holiday, but we were quite prepared to sacrifice it (and nearly did before he died, but see above: mum agreed), and I will be thinking of dad (he is never out of my head). Will give me time to see if I can read through the address (edited by Good and Bad sister to reassure mum I won't embarrass her (as if)) that I have (stupidly) volunteered to read at the Church, something I have been completely unable to do so far without breaking down in tears. My 9 year old niece has volunteered to do an address too (and it is very good), and says she will step in for my mum if she cant do hers: Victorian Love Poetry sent to her skool to make sure she has some coaching to help her grandma. Intrepid soul!
Talking about a holiday and the death of my father in this medium seems so trite and superficial, and I wish I could write more profoundly, but life goes on. M lost her mum 25 years ago Monday 23rd, so she is with me on this. I cannot describe my feelings about his death and what happened there when it happened, even to close friends. Not been a good day. Misery is too cheerful a word. *screams silently
**Normal service will resume shortly