When the light flicked on my eyes opened. It happened like that. For a moment I wasn't sure if it was something in me which had lit the world up or not. The covers, a ton of thick itchy blankets, were pulled in around me and just one depressed eye looked out over the edge of the bed. The room felt sad, like it had no windows, like rooms feel when tragedy has just swept by. I could sense it was evening, but early or late, or even what day, I had no idea.

It was her feet I saw first, thick swollen ankles spilling over bible-shaped shoes, working their way through a maze of piss bottles, pieces of half eaten buttered bread and an array of other things that someone living in a bed would have near them. I heard the double crack from a knee joint, saw the ankles swell further and spill more over the shoes, and then my personal space was hijacked – the covers pulled back on a world I felt at odds with. “Tristram dear,” she said, as if speaking to an old sock “I thought you was dead!” It was mother.

When I realised that the light in the room came from the bulb, but that my eyes were just as dull and as heavy and as weary as before, I snatched the covers back over my head and wriggled down in them searching again oblivion in their darkness and warmth. “Go away!” I sobbed, “Please, just leave me alone. You should never have come here!”

I listened, hoping to hear mother heave, her knee joints snap back into place, her retreating footsteps and then the light flick off as she left. But there was nothing and now even my own muffled sobs had stopped. A draft was under the blankets and making its way up my back. Now the darkness was hot and irritable and itchy. In a fit of energy and rage I burst free from my holdings and was suddenly up on my feet, pulling my filthy paisley pyjama bottoms on over a pair of even filthier Y-fronts. I was back and I looked and felt like absolute shit.


  1. So lovely to have you back .. although in an obvious state of disarray ... I would tell my boy to shower, it always makes you feel better, whilst he was washing, I would wash those dirty y fronts so that you had had something clean to wear and gather your self respect together...
    You may have murdered your lover.. but you only have one life you know xx
    Ps I love your description of your mother.. but I would just die before I got cankles..xx

  2. Glad your back Trist, maybe this has all been a bad dream ;)

  3. Wildernesschic: Hmmm, my mother wash my Y-fronts??? I can't see that one happening, she doesn't even wash her own... and no, it wasn't a misleading sentence: mother actually wears Y-fronts! X

    Lena: Glad to be back and glad you're back too. A bad dream? Or maybe it was the good part and the real nightmarish stuff is yet to come? X

  4. As a devout Christian I do not of course believe in women getting above their station.

    (It has always amazed me that I have been described as a 'ball-breaker' by most of the men in my life).

    However: it is now time for the girls to take charge of this woeful situation.

    Mrs Spencer, Verity and the Garbo Tranny simply must team up and take matters in hand.

    Verity will be the Brains, Mrs S the Guilt, (to keep you in line), and Garbo Tranny, of course, the Brawn...

  5. Good lord, man, I'd thought Dick got you.

  6. Good Gawd....first being punched out, then a little Dick hovering above, and then, a hot scratchy thing on top of you. How much can one endure!

  7. Mrs Winthrope, welcome back! A 'ballbreaker', just the thought you anywhere near that part of the male anatomy is disturbing... I didn't think you was the type.

    If 'The Girls' are my salvation, well, I'll hang the rope from the rafters now. Mum could even kick the chair.

    No, I think for this one I'll have to be the brains, guilt and brawn myself. X

    Simon: Not yet! He's been quiet presence in the background this past week or so. Maybe he was cutting me some slack? X

    Jim: It's been a rough ride alright, hopeefully though the worst of the storm has passed...


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