When a body is cremated it ends up as a jar of ashes (usually a plastic one). What then? It’s not an item I’d choose to hang on to for long. Would you keep it on your mantlepiece?

The scattering of ashes presents problems that you might not have considered until the time comes. Most obviously, where to do it? Somewhere of particular significance to the deceased? But that’s not always possible. Also, better not pick a wet or windy day.

So, what to do with Dad’s remains?

I love it when something I’ve planned works perfectly. Of course no-one likes their plans being disrupted, but when everything happens exactly as you’d hoped it would, it provides an added element of self-satisfaction!

***

My friend Jo and I drove to Oxford on the Saturday morning to join the rest of One for the Wall at the recording studio in Cumnor. The weather was dry and sunny, and it continued to warm up as the week went on.

On the Bank Holiday Monday Anne took the bus to Oxford and we drove on to the Wirral that evening.

We visited Mum the following morning before taking the train to Glasgow. Against all logic, Glasgow was the hottest place in Britain. We dined at The Ubiquitous Chip, a restaurant in the West End I’ve wanted to visit for 20 years. No chips of course.

It was really, really good

Then a long walk back to George Square through the University district, with its fine Victorian buildings and terraces, then Kelvingrove Park.

***

My father passed away on 25 October last year, with a well-attended funeral on 21 November.

Dad, like me, was a proud Glaswegian, with no great affection for the Wirral (although he’d lived there for 60 years), so taking him back to the land of his birth – without wishing to sound overly sentimental – seemed appropriate. And it was an excuse to make a rare trip north of the border.

I remember Dad telling me that his parents used to take him on the Clyde steamer from Broomielaw to Rothesay for picnics, and it occurred to me to do that. But Anne and I came to the conclusion that it was too far, so we came up with another plan. We met my cousin Ewan at Queen Street Station on the Tuesday morning and took a train to Balloch on Loch Lomond, from where there’s a bus service to the exquisite village of Luss. People (well, teenagers) were swimming off the beach. In Scotland, in May!

Anne (again) found out that the sensible thing to do was to buy a biodegradable paper urn to hold the ashes before launching it on the water.

To her goes the credit for finding that a) it was permitted to scatter ashes on the loch, and b) that it was possible to hire a boat for the purpose. The three of us set off on a private trip across Loch Lomond, the largest lake in Britain and one of the most beautiful places you could wish to be on a still, warm and sunny day.

After about half an hour we found a little cove, well away from the racket at Luss beach and, accompanied by a wee dram, we watched Dad’s remains drift away and sink under the surface. It was a special moment.

I am sure I will never forget it

Dad was brought up at 19 Ardmay Crescent in the Glasgow suburb of Kings Park. It is a house I remember very well, but it was not until I looked at a map of Loch Lomond that I realised that Ardmay is a village a few miles west of the loch.

Six months on from Dad’s funeral we have completed the job of honouring his memory.

***

Back in Glasgow, Ewan joined us for dinner at Swadish , one of the best Indian restaurants in Britain. The next morning we had time for a visit to the recently reopened Burrell Collection before taking the train back to Liverpool.

After seeing Mum again at the care home, having dinner with old friends, and selling Dad’s trusty Astra, we drove back to London on the Saturday.

A memorable and productive week: one when, amazingly, all went precisely to plan.

Now we face the prospect of selling the family home in Upton.