This is the diary of a bemused Boomer. He is post crash, post covid, post libido and, often, past caring. Teetering on the tightrope between the demands of his family and his urge to have more ‘me time’, he is trapped in No Man’s Land, a victim of the inter-generational war. Ecce homo, ecce Boomer, ecce Man in the Middle.
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Oh, God. It’s a stag party In the middle of the aisle is a young man, tall as a pine tree, swaying in tune with the train as it leaves King’s Cross. His left palm is flat against the carriage ceiling while his right hand steadies half a bottle of vodka against his lips. HeContinue reading “We were students once”
At the nursing home my mother, like an eccentric monarch interrogating a much-missed servant, starts hurling questions at me. I haven’t even stepped over the threshold of her room. Her questions merge into one current of untamed thought. Words cascade from her like one fluid sentence from James Joyce’s ‘Finnegan’s Wake’ or some other impenetrableContinue reading “A bad dementia day”