Playing Catch Up II

Back to the events of last week. In bite-sized pieces because my screwed-up concentration span can't cope with much more. I was supposed to go to Lisa's on Tuesday to look at her computer because, according to her, it is 'poorly'. Don't anthropomorphise computers - they hate it! How many times have you heard that before? But she read about the fire in the local paper and came over to visit me instead. She took me out to dinner at The Globe. We had a little argument - about theology, as usual. But we made it up. As she left my flat we saw Andy approaching. She ushered me back inside. 'Why did you do that?' I asked. 'I'm not going to let that man dictate when I can walk down my own steps.'

'I don't particularly want to see him,' she said.

On Wednesday my mother rang. Apparently my father is dying. Well, he is and he isn't. He has an aneurism in his aorta and a shadow on his lung. It sounds almost poetic. 'I'm worried about him.'

Huh? Is this the same woman who spent my entire childhood bemoaning his very existence, condemning him for being an alcoholic bastard and wishing death upon him so she could collect the insurance money.

I pointed this out to her and she called me heartless.

'Pot, kettle, black,' was my 'heartless' response.

More later...