Managed a reasonably good night thanks to a couple of little white pills and a half of Hambleton ale. The cough that decided to start last night did its best, but I slugged some of the old Potter's and it did the trick. I had my first foray into the social world last night for an hour, and went to the Jemmy Hirst in Rawcliffe. Some of you will know the place and what a friendly and gently welcoming place it is. With an ex police officer landlady, you are in very good hands at a time like this. The son of one of my friends from church is a regular, and he was straight in for a cuddle and a kiss, despite me probably moving around in a viral fog. I DID warn him ....

Ian will arrive at Heathrow this evening. Mark Mounde, who has been with him all the way, is then being kicked home to his wife in Doncaster before he joins Ian in the real sense! A couple of the company directors are then going to escort him north. The Russians have already, apparently "done the business". He has been embalmed, and they have provided him with a top-range coffin. We don't know what it's like, but Mark says he's seen how much it cost! Pity it'll be burnt, really.
Reality will hit me tomorrow evening when Mark is coming with a Jiffy bag sized amount of Ian's effects: presumably the stuff he had with him at the mine. More than likely this will include his rings, if they've been able to remove them. Stand by for the hysterics.

Otherwise I have been writing a letter to go to people I haven't yet been able to contact, and also sending out details of the disaster fund, to which donations can be made by using the nominated corresponding banks and following the route through to the fund account.
If anyone feels inclined to do anything, pm me with your email address and I'll send you the details. There are 2 routes, one for dollars and one for euros.

Andrea