Company men like Dad, they don’t make ‘em anymore. You know what I mean? Kiss wife, through door, sit at desk, dogmatically shuffle wire paperclips for forty-odd years.

Yeah, that sort. His sister (invariably in tears) would tell us all men should be like this, and hit us with a stick if we were late to tea. After Mum died the black crow’s spade

sanctified a perverse exchange: one living mother in the grave for a lifeless, feelingless

corpse not-really-in-our-lives (but still far too much so). Dad still liked his rules, though; they always proved a most reliable partner. That’s just how it was back then. I suppose you could say that after all this I realised that you’ve gotta get out while you still can. Not that I ever did, mind. Yeah - I’ll have another. Two sugars - thanks.

By Bungler Bill

From: United Kingdom

Twitter: BunglerBill