My father and Thatcher

Dear Dad

This week Thatcher died and was buried, a fact that would have had little emotional resonance for you.  But you, like no-one else I’ve ever known, would have relished the political discussion it's sparked and all of its subtext.  The media have necessarily made it a time of reflection, but what I reflected on most of all was that you’re missing at times like this: my father who took the opportunity of every mealtime to prick my political conscious.

The man in the road

This is absolutely a self-indulgent post about a dream I had last night, but I wanted to write it down before it gets hazy. I've only dreamt about Dad 5 times since he died (yes, I very much count them).

Being a Sap

With total and utter predictability the one night I try and get an early night I can’t sleep, so I shall share my mundane worries with the (anonymous) world.

Tomorrow I have to go to a conference and present a paper about my work.  This involves an overnight stay.  I am a grown-up, this should be no biggie (as Buffy would say).  This is how many ways I could cock up the whole affair.