Or mine.

//

I hope that in time I’ll be able to picture my father as he was, and not just a helpless shell.

Exactly. He couldn’t speak or move, and struggled to swallow.

Thank you. He’s been in such a pitiful state for so long that there’s a lot of relief mixed with the sadness.

Thank you.

Thank you.

For those who haven’t already seen it somewhere else, my father died at the weekend. I’m spending this week on an arcane bureaucracy that requires picking up pieces of paper and driving them to another office to exchange for other pieces of paper.

The drawback of having the windows open is having to listen to the cheering.

Get half a dozen pieces of turf on that land until you get it sorted out properly!

She insists on grass?