There was no party today, unfortunately, because the rain-clouds didn’t just march across our sky, it marched into Stephen’s life and he had to cancel the party. His parents were less than pleased with something, and decided to stay home this weekend and “discuss” it with Stephen.

I’m not quite sure what the git’s done now, but I’m not sure that not a lot needed to be done. So, in the domino effect of that decision, I called Ben to warn him that there wouldn’t be a party, and now I’ve been here all evening working on a story.

I’ve had the itch to write something for some time, and I just decided to do it – even if I don’t finish it. Just doing it should ease the itch, and give me some time before the withdrawal symptoms set in again.


Since I was going to the party, Mark’s dad came over to this town today, and they were going to get that batch of beer sorted that they never did before. Mark spent a whole weekend cleaning bottles earlier, and nothing came of it. The kit was moulding in the cupboard, until today.

So they’ve been cleaning bottles again, and Mark looks at me darkly when I don’t volunteer to help with that, but I just want them to get on with the father-son bonding thing. I’ll sit and write instead and nurse my tea-mugs from full to empty, and philosophise about the universe, the state of man, the meaning of art, and about whether Stephen is having fun over at his house.

Besides, Mark and his dad could go with a keg or something and not bother with bottles. It’s not my fault they’re really inefficient and round-about. They’re the ones that insist on bottles, and there’s no point in me getting wet.

When he’s done he can come up here and “have a talk”, but I have a surprise that is going to defuse that before it starts. Yes, I do. I found it when I was down-town earlier, and I think it’s going to make him happy. Yes. I won’t say what it is until after I’ve given it to him.


Speaking of surprises. On January 17th Mark is eighteen years old. That’s just a month and a half away. I have to think of something to give him, but I don’t know what. I may also need a bit of time getting whatever I think of together, so I should decide before long.

I can’t really make David Cameron go away to some desert island to never be seen in public again, and I can’t actually get Mark into Cambridge. If I knew who to ring, and who to bribe, I might do so. But since I don’t, I’m a bit stumped.

I want to get something extraordinary. We live these normal, mundane lives, but that man still makes my knees go soft, and he does take my breath away sometimes. I have stopped wondering why, pretty much, because what is, is. I can’t imagine a life without him. And that day in January is going to be an important one. I want to mark it as such.