It was November. It was cold; below the seasonal average, the weather forecast said. The wind swept the dead leaves along in gusts. The sky was a cold, clear blue. Really not the weather to be put into a coffin, I said to myself...I was off to the funeral of Paul Caron, a colleague of mine. Paul was a lad from the North district, a great buddy, straightforward, no hidden side to him, uncompromising and honest. A big guy, with broad shoulders, slightly bent, who everybody liked, even those who had crossed swords with him. He said what he had to say, sometimes a bit abruptly, but always politely