Where’s there’s a will...
I’m going to write this week about ‘Wills’ but, don’t worry, this has nothing to do with Saturday’s royal wedding.
She Who Knows recently went on holiday with her sister to sun-kissed Cyprus. Before she left I alerted them to the dangers – and not just of skin cancer.
“You’re travelling into a potential war zone,” I warned. “It’s where our jets flew from to bomb neighbouring Syria.”
Then I added, somewhat selfishly, “You’d best make a will.” You see, we mostly share our funds and even the house ownership. What’s more, I’m told probate can be long-winded and uncertain when “intestate”.
She agreed and went to the post office for a form, while I planned for afternoons lingering in beer gardens and al fresco meals watching cricket - between brief spells of gardening - while they were away. She Who lashed out £10 on a ‘will kit’, then arranged for it all to be properly witnessed.
Afterwards, I was putting her will away in our fire-safe document holder when it occurred to me to check it. (During a recent spat over some trifle she’d threatened to leave everything to the dogs’ home.)
Moments later I was back, full of outrage. “I don’t mind you leaving jewellery to your sister,” I fumed, “but you’ve left me nothing!”
“You’re the joint executor,” she protested. “I thought it all automatically went to you, as the husband.”
Not so, you have to spell it all out in legal terms. Finally, she confirmed in writing to leaving me all her “remaining estate”, apart from that ‘modest’ jewellery horde.
Thankfully, the ladies returned unscathed, except for a return flight delayed hours and diverted to Birmingham. “Never again!” was her conclusion.
As for my own plans for the week she was away . . .
Needless to say, it rained.
• For Roy’s books visit www.royedmonds-blackpool.com.