When I was in my early teens, I watched my father walk off the edge of the world. One second he was there, with all of us, and then he was gone. We would have thought he had disappeared, gone from us forever, had it not been for the earth shattering cry of “Jesus H. Christ!” that accompanied his departure.
It is a testament to who the man was that, while we all found this unnerving, none of us found it even slightly surprising. My father marched to the beat of a different drummer. Continue reading →
I’ve got myself into trouble again. I wrote a poem the other day about bank queues. It was silly. My wife saw it, and instead of smiling because it was silly, she decided that I was not nearly romantic enough, and would be writing her a love poem. I can’t do that. You see, I do not love my wife.
They say that the Eskimos have over a hundred different words for snow. I love the idea, and was devastated the other day to learn that they don’t. They have one.