It was never going to last – In the name of Thiago – Day 144
Fear not everyone, sweary bastard Chris has returned and it’s all down to the enigma that is my father. He’s only been back with me for five days but my patience once again is wearing thin. Now I appreciate that this is a two-way street, and it wouldn’t be unreasonable to say that I am not the most patient of people. The problem in my view – well it is my fucking blog I suppose – lies in the fact that Dad doesn’t see any problems as being two way.
With dad, it’s only ever the other person’s fault. So on my day off, we managed to get a lot done. Or perhaps a more accurate way of putting it would be; I got a lot done for Dad and there was very little in the way of gratitude coming back the other way. I don’t want praise but a simple thank you would be nice occasionally. I’m looking forward to going back to work tomorrow to have a break.
A real sticking point at the moment is his will, or rather his apparent lack of interest in having one. My brother and sister have both tried to encourage him to get one but there’s always a reason why it can’t be done. Once I’ve been through the cathartic release of tonight’s blog I might gently raise it once more. It won’t be too long though, before I start raising it a little less gently. It’s just pure selfishness I think, unless I’m missing something.
This afternoon, together with Elisa, we’ve been hanging out and making a little bit more progress with getting stuff done at his house. Elisa was quite interested to know about the potted history of Smith and Gibbs and kindly sat under the clock for a photo (though it was just taken to cheer up her mum so don’t any of you lot go grassing me up)!
I left Elisa with my dad, which must come pretty fucking close to being neglect, for a couple of hours while I went off for a hit at the tennis club. To give you an idea, when I got back, she came running up the driveway to greet me. I don’t think she’s done that since she was in reception!
When I got back, and while we waited for the beds to be delivered, I decided to open a briefcase that Dad had brought back from Australia. What you can see in the picture is not the full extent of what he decided was worth sending 11,000 miles by sea freight in that briefcase but even at my most nonsensical (and let’s face it that’s a pretty fucking high bar of stupidity), I would question whether I really needed to travel across the world with a plastic turd.
I need to be fair-minded here though, there were also some quality photos in that briefcase, some of which I had hazy recollections of, some of which I wish I hadn’t been there for. You know the type of thing, feigned interest, abysmal hair cuts and just complete awkwardness all round.
Here’s one that definitely falls into the latter category. I just look like the kind of person you’d want to punch: all smug and just disgustingly aloof – and with no reason to be I might add. Poor Holly is just trying to make light of a difficult situation, while to be fair to the lad, my brother comes out of it quite well. He always does, the little shit!
I always feel slightly sad when I look at photos of myself as teenager. I just made life a lot more difficult that it needed to be. It’s that classic thing of, if only I knew then what I know now. Still, I guess we’ve all been twats at some point. I certainly had the blueprint.
I promise you, this is the last one. This is me and all my cousins – I was the eldest – at my first family home. Nice to see me having a good scoot round the old nozzer as the picture was taken. Nicer still for the person taking the picture to make sure this was kept for posterity. Classic socks and sandals combo there from my cousin Daniel making me feel slightly less of a twat I suppose.
Hey-ho, the day is done and I survived it, though I wasn’t sure Dad would for a bit back there. I have taken stock and reassessed now I shall pour a beer and calm myself. But before I do… please don’t forget to bung the NHS a few quid via my fundraiser if you’ve not done so already. That’s the real reason we’re all here folks.