This is a true story. I have been going to Newcastleton Festival for quite a while and as happens you make friends with the locals. One of whom was a lovely auld fellow called Jimmy Robson who was known for his poetry. I live twenty miles away and one day in the local paper was a notice in the deaths column......James Robson...Newcastleton. Well I HAD to go. For those of you not fortunate enough to know Copshawholm,there are a lot of people with the same names....father/son/cousin etc. Now how would we know if it was our Jimmy Robson......easy,if it WAS him he wouldn't be there,he be in the box and if it WAS'NT he'd be in the congregation. Perfect logic. Went to the funeral and he wasn't in the congregation...ergo.... Not once did they mention his poetry but they did mention his time on the railway so it must be an over site. Couldn't go the the "do" after but spoke to a few mutual friends,the usual kind of thing, how sad, he was a good age etc So the year rolled round to festival time again. First stop the Liddesdale. Hubby went in before me as I was blethering(chatting) to a mate. He came out that door quicker than a exocet missile,saying "you'll never guess who I've just seen?" Yes you've got it I'd been at the wrong bloody funeral. I never did tell Jimmy,shame because he would have made it into a cracking poem. He died a few years ago and I didn't get to the funeral as I was away.....still I'd been to his first one.