GEORGE'S NOSE WAS OUT OF JOINT.

You're shittin' me, was the first thing he said when he stepped onto the boat and found out we had no wine or beer on board. You are such a prissbutt, he said to me.

Lizzie explained that she'd thought scattering Dad's ashes might be sweeter if we didn't make it into a party. Sweeter! I laughed. But George went into a royal sulk. He is 12 minutes younger than me and likes to blame me for things.... Read more