Last Sunday my Granddad got up and went to 9 o'clock Mass in his local church.
Last Sunday I got up and brought my mother to brunch at 11.30am in Odessa.
Later my Granddad had a roast goose dinner, followed by trifle and cream.
I had smoked salmon eggs benedict, freshly squeezed orange juice and coffee.
After dinner, my Granddad (aged 90 and almost a half) went fishing.
After brunch, I (aged 31 and almost three-quarters) went shopping.
After fishing, my Granddad walked from the river, through the fields, to the bridge to wait for his lift.
After shopping, I went to lie on the couch in my boyfriend's house, tired from a night out and early start.
Last Sunday, my Granddad sat on the bridge, hands on the stone either side and bowed his head.
Last Sunday, as I started to open an ice-cream and sit on a bench, I got a call from my mother, sobbing.
Never sick, we never expected him to go. His first admittance to hospital was for his post mortem. He went they way he should, aged 90, but still too soon.
He leaves behind his wife, ten children, 26 grandchildren and one great-grandchild.
He had planted cabbages and potatoes the week before, the turnips were next.
He caught a fine trout the day he died.