Nothing whatsoever to do with grief.

My son arrived this morning to take me and his sister out for coffee, a lovely surprise. We went to a drive-through Starbucks, I had a flat white (boringly predictable), they had Choccywokkydoodah with caramel and clotted cream, which costs as much as fillet steak. Off we went to a lay-by at the end of London Luton Airport runway to watch the planes take off. My daughter points to the planes and we all have to sign the colours, most of them are orange and white. This is the home of EasyJet.
Back home we come. My daughter now wants to go in the garden. I erect the parasol (the one that confiscated half my thumb last weekend). The sun should have been glinting off my windows, but they were covered in dust, having not been cleaned for months. I set-to with a chamois leather and cleaned them. Daughter got bored, so indoors we came for lunch. More pointing to the garden, so coffee was duly made and out we went. Barely had time to get my bottom on the chair when the heavens opened. Rushed the wheelchair containing daughter back indoors, followed by the radio, mobile phone, coffee, and parasol, still clinging on to a part of my thumb. Then the sun came out.
The table and chairs were dripping so my daughter settled for television. But only for a while.
We have been in and out like a fiddler’s elbow all bloody day.
I am exhausted, but my windows are sparkling.

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