Conversations in a graveyard can have a strange edge to them? I suppose being surrounded by the reality of mortality brings one to the edge of things.

I was in the local burial ground on Sunday for the November prayers and, walking around between the graves, I was startled when I came to the family plot and saw my own name on the headstone – but of course it was my father’s name. I got to thinking that within a few decades my name will be on that stone too.