Walk Eighty-three – Tom and rusting gate

Tom walked with me again and he took photographs. I’m trying to keep busy. My dear father, who hasn’t seen my mother since they divorced over twenty-five years ago, when I was eventually able to give him the news, got it into his head that he wants to talk to my mother’s priest in Ireland. We all know that (as with almost everyone around her) she seriously fell out with the priest and reported him to the bishop for some imagined misdemeanour. So – despite my advising against it – my father (who is waiting for a hearing aid) insisted I give him the address immediately. So I have a very sore throat from having to shout down the phone at the top of my voice ‘O’ - for ORANGE, ‘L’ for LIMA etc. At no point did he consider that as the children are going to have to sort things out, it might be considerate to support whatever we want. You have to see the black humour in the situation (and take notes on what not to do when you reach their age).