Dad’s funeral cortege gave way at the junction when a recycling collection lorry went past. My daughter tried to smile. “It’s ironic,” she said quietly. “Grandad’s cremation delayed by recycling. He never recycled anything.” That’s true enough. Dad called it “A waste of bloody time.” I feel the same but always wheel out the recycling bin, because ‘you never know.’ Funny, really, in an hour, Dad himself will be reduced to fragments and ashes: fully recycled. Later, in the small chapel, I will bow my head and mumble prayers to a God I don’t believe in, because ‘you never know.’
John Holmes cycles around the North of England often bumping into forgotten memories. “Last Stop” is the Editor’s Pick for our INTERSECTIONS contest, part of our 2026 Micromemoir Marathon.