Her columns provoked a mild chuckle from time to time, which I suppose is the purpose of a sketch writer. She never reached the laugh out loud standard set by the genuinely funny Michael Deacon of the Telegraph, who along with Dan Hodges and the peerless Matt make me almost tempted to take out a subscription to that paper instead.
I have therefore not been tempted up till now to purchase Ann Treneman's books, which mainly consist of collections of her said sketches.But having recently ventured into the admittedly morbid hobby of grave visiting, my attention was drawn to a tome she has written called 'Finding the Plot: 100 Graves To Visit Before You Die.'
It's obviously an unusual variance on the 'bucket list' fashion, and I am jealous of Miss Treneman because I wish I had thought of it first.
Part of the appeal of a guide of this nature is to stir controversy by debating the merits of what is in and out. Even though her choices are a bit London centric, she does, for example, exclude Sir Richard Burton who I wrote about here.
I am told that the first action certain people take when opening a biography of a famous person, is to turn to the index to see if they personally get a mention. Indeed I tried it with Kylie's 'Kylie the Biography' but both she and the ghost writer seemed to have forgotten me for some reason.
With a 'grave book' obviously that is not really possible. Unless Pharaoh style you had already built your grave before departing this earth, it is difficult to see how your own final resting place could be included in such a compendium.
The next best thing therefore has to be to look see if there are any local ones included. In an outrageous slur and glaring omission Ann Treneman does not include a single grave in Brighton and Hove.
My nomination - in the unlikely event of Ann asking asking for my help -would have been an unremarkable grave sandwiched between a church hall and Tesco in the centre of Hove.
Colonel Sir George Everest is sometimes credited with discovering the world's tallest peak. This is not correct, but Mount Everest was certainly named in his honour. The mountain had been surveyed by Major General Sir Andrew Scott Waugh in the middle of the 19th century. There were various local names (Deodungha in Darjeeling and Chomolungma in Tibetan) but the Royal Geographical Society decided to give it an English name as well. They chose Everest at the suggestion of Sir Andrew, who wanted to honour his predecessor as Surveyor General of India, namely George Everest.
The feats of Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay in the climbing of the mountain just before the Coronation, and the continuing fascination with the roof of the world (there was a Hollywood blockbuster called Everest only last year) has led to (Sir George) Everest indirectly becoming one of the most famous Englishmen that has ever lived.
According to the excellent My Brighton and Hove History website it is a mystery as to how Sir George came to be buried in St Andrew's Churchyard in Hove. He had no obvious connection with the town, and lived (and died) in London following his return from India.
The gravestone is dedicated by his wife Emma Wing. Sir George had married her when he was 56, and she was 23. They had 6 children, and he was interred with the two that died as infants.
As you can see from the photo the inscription on the gravestone is very hard to read. It is not exactly neglected, but it is now almost anonymous. On my visit this week there was a carnation on the grave next to it, which belongs to Sir George's sister, Lucietta (maybe she was the Hove connection?)
Colonial guilt in modern liberal Brighton and Hove thrives. The history re-writers will no doubt be keen to rename Mount Everest soon. As a tourist city we should make more of our remarkable, and mysterious connection, with the highest mountain in the world before they succeed.
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