Andrew J. Lederer

"Charmingly original."

So said an older gent in the crowd gathered outside the house -- on Elgin Crescent, I think -- where a woman well-known and well-loved in Notting Hill during her 89 years on the planet -- Mary Rose may have been her name -- was about to make a final journey past the stalls of Portobello Market. (The guy might have said "wicker casket," since he was talking about a coffin, but I'm reporting what I heard.)

A participant explained that "market funerals" have been going on for probably hundreds of years but are rarely awarded to civilians. Two beautiful horses pulled a hearse past the sellers of Portobello, who had known this woman so well, as a large crowd of admirers.followed behind. Some crossed themselves as they witnessed this very English version of a jazz funeral.

Suddenly, there was some kind of fracas toward the rear. It looked like a truck had tried to pass through the mourners and the mourners were trying to thwart it, pounding upon the vehicle and verbally expressing their disgust.

The truck finally got through, though, and I thought I saw the name, "Dr. Eggs" on its side, meaning the disrespectful enterprise was self-identified as the dregs.

And was there a message in the fact that the procession turned onto "All Saints" on its way to the church?

Then, outside the church, the stately horses stood alongside a sign that read "Clydesdale Road". (Hmm . . . )

At the entrance to the church, a steel drum player provided music, another "charmingly original" neighborhood touch.

It was lovely but, you know, life goes on.

For instance, I wish I had credit on my mobile so i could let my friend know I'd be happy to join him for bangers. (But I don't.)