Welcome To The Glass House

The family gather round

Spud has a thing about his cups and glasses: only he must use them.  He has special items that are his and his alone.

Unfortunately for Spud, we didn’t know that for a long time.

When he revealed it to us in a strop one day, because we had all, at some point, had our dirty, germ-ridden mouths on the bulk of his drinking receptacles, we agreed not to use the one unsullied glass in his hitherto unknown collection.

On Friday he came home from school, poured himself a cool drink, and disappeared upstairs.

SCREAM!

Spud had dropped his last glass; it had shattered.  Spud was gutted.

Once cleared up (into the loving arms of a plastic bag), Spud insisted that we give it a proper send off.  Fortunately, we were all suitably attired: me in black; the Hub in grey; Spud in black.  

Click on the first photo to read the captions.

We gather here today to lay a beloved friend to rest.

Would you like to say a few words, Father?

He was a good glass; a reliable glass…

Rest well, dear friend. You never let me down.

Glass funeral. No, seriously.

Seeking solace at the feast

You can’t see me because I was the official photographer for the event.