Friday, August 06, 2010


Three weeks ago, I gave up watching Neighbours. There were two new hateful characters, a new actor had replaced one of my favourites, and the storylines were tawdry and tedious. Had it always been this way? Was the change in me? Had I finally grown up? 

This week a letter arrived, falling on me like a heavy weight. It was just another stage in a journey I never wanted to take, the journey that began with Ma’s dying. The solicitor dealing with the sale of Ma’s house wrote:

Please find enclosed a copy of our letter received from the purchasers solicitor this morning. I should be obliged if you could proceed to contact me at our office to confirm that completion the week commencing 23 August is agreeable.

This is what we have been working towards – of course -  but to see it in black and white makes it real. There is no alternative, there is no solution. We must bear the loss of the house.

It was lunchtime and I’d been working hard all morning. I took up the jacket I’m knitting for Lux, and sat down to watch Neighbours for comfort. It worked. The world of story is powerful. What would I do without fiction?

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