Mince pies and seasides.

On Christmas Day once when I was a teenager, instead of doing traditional Christmas things my Dad took my Step-Mum and me to the Norfolk coast for the day. We went, all bundled up in hats and scarves, with tomato soup and mince pies for our Christmas lunch, and we sat on the totally empty beach and watched all the sea birds. It was wonderful, even though at the time I'm sure I had a little teenage strop about doing something 'weird' and 'embarrassing'.

We walked and played and found an unexploded Second World War bomb, so we phoned the local police and they came out to the beach and we all shared our mince pies . It was quite the occasion.

My dad was like that, we quite often did unusual things and vaguely annoying ones too; at the dinner table we were never allowed to sit in the same chair because he didn't want us to become 'creatures of habit'. I think he liked to think of himself as impulsive and reckless even though the reality was different; he also did things like have careful financial planning, which isn't very reckless at all, if you ask me.

Anyway.

As I have previously written, today is the tenth anniversary of his death. If I didn't have to work I would drive to the Norfolk coast and toast him with tomato soup and mince pies. Perhaps I still will, at some point. I might sit on the sand and and say, 'Ten years but not forgotten Dad' and ask him what he thinks, what I should do.

I'll say, 'What shall I do Dad? Because I'm lost. Sometimes when I'm driving alone at night on an empty road and the road turns I deliberately don't turn the wheel and then at the last minute a kind of innate sense of self preservation takes over, and I do after all. Why does my brain ignore me?

It's not supposed to be like this. I don't know where to turn or who to ask, or even what to ask for, I don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going and I don't know how to make anything right, or even if I want to.'

Yeah. I'll say, 'I'm lost Dad, and I need help.'

I don't know what he'd tell me. He'd probably tell me to do the exact opposite of what I think he'd say, but since I don't even know what I think he'd say I can't work out the rest and I'm no further forward.

Much easier to have him here to ask, and then I wouldn't have to do all this guessing.

Stupid dying.
Stupid living and stupid dying.