Must Not Be Blank

A fly inches up the window. It is as if someone were pulling a little string, tug tug tug and sending it like a Christmas toy hilariously up the glass. Only it isn't Christmas. It's the other highly charged side of the year. Thirty-five years ago the unbearable tension in my home was about to erupt. The protracted process of my parents' separation would begin with my sister telling me that my mother wanted to leave my father. And then a few incomprehensible weeks of knowing this when my father didn't. That summer I left the school I'd attended for eight years, my best friend moved away, and suddenly I was faced with the prospect of leaving the house where I'd lived for eleven years, and going to live in another town, without my father. Carefree summer after the big exams, but I was lying awake at night crying, my childhood in ruins.

Diaries

An awkward pile of diaries of different sizes, spanning the years 1976 to 1985. A jumble of days from long ago.

Handmade Parade 2013

The theme this year was Myths, Mysteries and Mayhem, in four sections Earth, Air, Fire and Water. More words than that are I fancy not necessary. Click to enlarge images.

Tail

A cardboard fish tail, about three feet long and painted blue with silver scales, hangs from the fireplace. A blue fish on a stick poking out of the coal scuttle. Paints and sellotape, the stapler and strips of silver paper lie about the table. Must be the Handmade Parade tomorrow.

Pieces

L is away and I dream she falls with a crash through the rotten floorboards of an old house. I call down the hole. And call and call.

Then I dream of my first woman love, kissing the soft skin of her neck. She has come back for me.

Tomorrow the hospital and I have decided writing will be the way to deal with it, writing in my blue notebook on the train home. A place to put the pieces. Then here.

Don't Want

Fresh green leaves tremble, wonder if they got the season right. Tom Ravenscroft plays curious music on Radio 6 Music, always a little reminiscent of his late father John Peel. I drink a glass of the Wine Society's French Full Red. I ponder my refound ability to enjoy alcohol, which is entirely thanks to my refound ability to sleeeeep. Even when I am working. Even when my mother is languishing in Watford General. I never got there last weekend - stolen cable caused signal non function at our local station and I was unable to set out, so barring a repeat of that or some act of God or Godzilla, I shall go on Monday. Today's report from my sister is that my mother is VERY confused, almost ga-ga. I of course don't want to go/ don't want not to go/ don't want to feel I have no choice but to go/ don't want to be dealing with this/ don't want...

Rough With The Smooth

Kefalonia was dreamy. Sun was hot, sea was blue and wavy, sand was gritty, and I slept like a baby and relaxed completely.

Then I went to visit my mother last weekend (was it only last weekend?) Then on Monday evening she had a fall, and - has broken four bones in her foot and bruised her knee, is on the geriatric ward in her local hospital, and has became rapidly much more confused than she was before (which was only slightly). My sister is at the front line and on daily visiting duties, tonight sounding exhausted and discouraged. I am contemplating a there and back in a day visit on Saturday - 8 hour round trip on trains.