It seems like self mutilation to return to London to be sad. But I can't avoid the past because London is very much part of my present and therefore my future.
I wander around bits of south London and think of how my Mondays used to be spent - dropping in to see my dad and then going on to work.
Now it is a case of sorting out his bits of paper and going to work.
I went round to his flat today as various junk mail people are still sending out the win a billion pounds coupons. The couple who live downstairs at his place save up the letters just in case there's something important.
I went into the Cancer Research shop on Balham High Road and bought a couple of things. Took a coffee in the Cafe Nero just opposite.
It would have been a bit too much to have sat at the window seat where me and him had a coffee just after a visit to the hospital in May 2009. That was in early May and I remember thinking what a strange way to spend part of the May bank holiday weekend.
But a month later he died. Ladies final Saturday at Roland Garros.
I guess he knew the end was in sight because he made sure to tell me that I should not fret nor worry. He also said that I shouldn't be sad and to look after the children.
I ought to follow orders.