PASSING WORDS: Prunella Scales

"Whatever this next bit," she said quietly, "I'm deeply grateful for clarity. We fantasize about a life at loose ends, unencumbered, but it's no good to have a mind wander about setting things on fire in the kitchen." The angel smiled. "No," it said, "that wouldn't do at all." "Oh ... and," she added (more energetically), "... in case it's a temporary thing and I'm going to fog back up, I should like to say that I'm very grateful for the extraordinary luck I've had in life - or, maybe, I should call it grace? Oh, dear; I'm ill-prepared with no confidence in my lines!" The angel laughed. "You're doing splendidly; no anxiety is required here." "It feels like a tidy up, this. It feels like a lovely cup of tea after an extraordinary effort has been made - neither good nor bad (perhaps both), but you get to pause a moment and put a bow on the gift that was your life. It really is beautiful here, the way the light is everywhere at once." Moved, the angel said, "You know, I really am a very big fan of yours." She squeezed its arm. "Sssshhh! Playing to unseen television audiences was bad enough! Please don't get me overthinking how many of the heavenly host watched. I'll need a digestive biscuit." They took a bit of a walk to get used to things before meeting anyone else, to finish with the cloudiness of mind and leave all of that rubbish behind.