Looking out the window of my dad's house I'm glad I did not venture out this afternoon-it is filthy out there. Rain is pouring down and the wind is sweeping and lashing that rain onwards. It is a bit like my mood yesterday.
I came home yet again late after yet another crisis that never happened. If I could have I would have walked out. Then as I waited for my train there was yet another out of hours call. Well enough is enough, I don't don't get paid enough to do this shit. Something has to change but I'm not sure what to do about it. I have been concocting potential e mails all the way down here but not come up with anything suitable. Nor do I yet know to whom I should direct my e mail-to the top perhaps.
My mind is still afire but not where it was yesterday. I'm slow roasting belly pork in dad's aga-not much of a fan of them-and there is the marvelous smell of pork, garlic and fennel seeds permeating the house. Dad, Miriam and Nigel have gone to the crematorium with a plant for mum. As we approach the anniversary of her death I too will have to make that journey. She still invades my dreams, some are good most are bad. God I hate dreaming.
Tonight I will go to the Butt of Sherry for several pints of Directors. Tomorrow with my cousin Cedric also here we will celebrate dad's birthday in a country pub. After that it will be a slow journey home, the trains are interrupted both from here to London and from London to home-they never get it right when I want to travel.
I Heard a Voice.
PS Let's hope for an England Grandslam later!!!
No comments:
Post a Comment