One hundred years of solitude

With Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s passing late last night, a memory. I open an old copy of One hundred years of solitude and find something unexpected. A note written in my handwriting, addressed to Ben. I gave him this book a few months after we got together. At the time, I didn’t realise how prescient an act that was. Continue reading

Two years old

 

Today is my anniversary. Exactly two years ago today, I started writing this blog. Back then, I was desperate and in despair. Rosie was a mere 3 3/4 years old. What she knew of her dad was that he had been suffering from an unidentified illness all her life. Continue reading

“I don’t want a new mummy”

Today is Mother’s Day in the UK. (c) Millennium Images/Superstock

One night, lying in bed, saying goodnight to Rosie. Ben is there, too. We’re all squashed in, listening to a recording of Alan Bennett reading Winnie the Pooh, when Rosie says: “What happens if you get married again, Daddy?” Continue reading

When you’re too gone to care that you’re s@*tting in the street

Chocolate-box cemetery

One sunny Sunday morning. Rosie and I are on our way back from the local bagel place, scoffing rye and sesame bagels as we walk. We’re sharing – taking turns taking bites out of each other’s bagels. We round the corner and make the descent down the steep and picturesque hill that leads us back to our flat. Continue reading

Addiction

At night, I dream about it. It’s the first thing I think of when I wake up. I trudge through my day robotically, waiting for the moment when I can have it next, and when I do, I can’t stop myself from having more. Sometimes, I don’t make it through the whole day. When I sleep, I dream of it.

Continue reading

Isn’t it great when you don’t have to be responsible?

It is, right? Because then you don’t have to worry about collecting the child, or paying the bills, or cooking, or going to work, or doing the laundry, or making sure you leave home on time to drop the child off at school. Continue reading

Wanderlust

Running. Away, towards, whatever. I’m running right now.

Imagine: standing still, while the you inside pulls away like a wad of chewing gum strung up to the underside of a shoe. See? One piece is still on the pavement, the other is bungeeing upwards away, momentarily free, until the shoe strikes the pavement and leaves a little bit of you behind with each step. Perpetual displacement with no refuge. Continue reading