Grave Concern...

Myself and the Missus are walking back from the supermarket. Our route takes us past Kensal Green Cemetery. I decide to let the Missus in on my intended graveyard tryst.

'I could be going over there with my gardening tools next week.'
'The cemetery?'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
'Because I've found a way to find the grave of my dead madam/whore and I can't imagine anyone is still tending it so I'm going to adopt the grave and look after it. I think it's a good idea to adopt a grave. There's something quite human about it, honouring the memory of a woman whose story has intrigued and inspired you. I could start a trend...'
'I suppose you'll be taking flowers...'
'Yes. I think I should. It obviously wouldn't be red roses or carnations as they have romantic references and I don't have that sort of relationship with Sarah...'
'First name terms now, eh?'
'I feel I've bonded with her.'
'Bonded with a dead Victorian prostitute?'
'Yes...'
'Who specialised in flagellation?'
'Yes.'

I get the look she usually reserves for me when I've done something really stupid. Like boilwash her most delicate blouse or shrunk her expensive cashmere jumper. I think this look is the end of it. But it's not. She simply turns to me and asks:

'Why can't you be normal?'

It could be a long day...