I'm rather confused at the moment.
When the world ends everything's supposed to stop right? Things aren't supposed to just carry on. At the very least there should be a moment when everything stops.
All I got was the TV blowing up.
Spain was lovely, got sunburnt and relaxed a lot and then got back to England at 3am yesterday morning. Crashed at Anthony's for a few hours, went to Tesco for food, went to Waterstone's for the new Pratchett and then came home just as the phone rang.
It was my mother ringing to tell me that my dad was in hospital. That he'd gone in on Thurs/Fri with a bit of a pain and that then all of a sudden she had a phonecall on Sunday to say that instead of thinking about him coming home on Monday, she should get there as soon as possible.
Unfortunately there was no point in me trying to get there as soon as possible. Instead we did sensible things like putting the food in the freezer and putting a load of washing on and feeding the cats treats.
Then we put the British Superbikes on to distract me. Then the TV went "buh-dooooooo" and stopped working. Then mum phoned about ten minutes later to say that dad had died about ten minutes before.
Bastard took my TV with him.
I think we are going to have to be careful with the family sense of humour. It is dark at the best of times but at the moment is very very black and leads to hysterical laughter followed by flooding.
Like the fact that my mother can now watch exactly what she wants on TV and has claimed possession of the "preciouses" (remotes) but then got all shaky when thinking about the copy of the Radio Times next to his chair with all the programmes he wanted to watch this week circled.
We are all over the place at the moment, literally. I'm in Wolves and Emily is in Cardiff. She went back yesterday morning when everything was still ok.
Anthony has had to go to work which is one of the reasons I'm up so bloody early. I don't have to even think about work until I have to ring RichieFingers towards the end of the week. Poor Richie, he was so very unintentionally funny on the phone yesterday when I phoned to say I probably would not be in today. He was all "Oh. What? No! What? What? No! WHAT?" Darling boy.
I spoke to my cousin Richard last night as mum couldn't face ringing my Aunt Sylv and so I rang Richard to ask him for her number. But he was also a star and said he would tell her (and his dad) and then pass on my number.
No one even knew he was in hospital cos everything happened so fast. But fast is good in a way as I wouldn't have wanted him hanging on and on for days. He would have hated it too, partly cos it's £3.50 a day for the TVs in Basildon Hospital. He was whinging about this, but then enjoying watching the football results.
Bloody Orient lost their first game of the season too. And he never got his birthday present - the programme for Leyton Orient.v.Arsenal in the FA Cup Semi-Final game from Saturday 8th April 1978. The game prior to this was the one that led to me being born.
I will be here for a few days and then will go home. Mum wants to be on her own for a little bit as it will make things easier afterwards. Emily is stuck in Cardiff until Thursday as she has to enrol on Wednesday (essential for student loan). I am worried about my baby sister. I am ALWAYS worried about my baby sister, but I am extra worried at the moment. Being worried about her is helpful cos then I am not thinking.
I will be spending a lot of time on the computer trying not to think. Thinking's overrated.
It also means I shall be doing lots of work on the cross-stitch for my mother.
And contributing to global warming by using acres of tissues.