Monday, 22 June 2009

Back to Life

I was humming the Soul II Soul tune to the girls as we got off the metro at Chateau D'Eau to go home. "Anyway you want it....however do you want it, however do you need it...."

it's probably the first time they've heard me singing for the past few weeks.

They stayed in London with me to help me go through my dad's things. And my little helpers did me proud, folding up clothes to take to the clothes recycling bank.

We got through the wardrobes and now there are only shirts left. I have acquired quite a few extra things. Don't know how they will fit into Paris.

Must try and relocate my routine over the next week before I go back to London to continue clearing up my dad's flat. The housing association has given me until to July 19 to get out of his flat.

I have written to the Wandle housing association asking for a bit of flexibility in getting out. The housing association has decided to be callous.

One of the functionaries wrote to me offering her condolences, thanks for your letter explaining your difficulties she said, but get out.

I guess another letter should wing its way to them and I should do my utmost to get out of their hair. What a bunch of clowns. I take the death certificate round to their offices and they can't even be civil enough to give me a decent amount of time to get out of the flat.

My old school mate Chris is coming over to Paris this week. He has just been on the phone and he mentioned that it might be best to be away from the flat quickly.

Well I'll be gone as rapidly as possible. Can't deal with a bunch of clowns. Appropriate that the Star Trek episode I was watching was called Bread and Circuse.

Sunday, 7 June 2009

The Drought

In the waiting room before all the action of dealing with dad's death, I was able to cry some more today. This time because the blub king of tennis Roger Federer finally won the French Open.

I have been in Paris watching finals he has lost abjectly. This year I was in London not watching and he won. So that's 14 and the career grand slam. Now we can watch the tennis at Roland Garros with the Federer monkey off our back.

I am glad to have had at least one jolly (Roger) bit of news this weekend.

There's grim stuff to come but am at least certain that dad was happy with his life at the end. And you can't be unhappy about that.

The Unwanted Trip

Of all the trips between Paris and London this is the most painful. I was phoned just after playing football on Saturday morning and told my dad had died.

The team was celebrating coming top of the division and I think they were just about to break out the champagne. But I said my quick farewells not telling anyone of the news.

The middle child went out to a party and we told her and her big sister late in the afternoon. They were distraught.

I was on the train heading to London just on the verge of entering the administration of bereavement. I am upset because I was looking forward to going out for a coffee with my dad on Monday week before work.

He hadn’t called to say he was feeling unwell which he was perfectly capable of doing. And I hadn’t spoken to him for a week. So the whole thing is startlingly sudden.

For someone who had been suffering from prostate cancer, I always thought the demise was going to be in a hospital room accompanied by a bedside vigil until the end.

Preparation time. To hear after a game of football ahead of a weekend of French Open finals was not in the script.

I am not sure if I’m going to sign off from parislondonreturn for a few days or not. There was a heap of tales to tell about the end of the football season and even the tennis.

Not quite sure if I’ll be able to focus on those as there are trips to the mortuary to get to grips with and clearing up my dad’s flat.

Onerous times ahead.