Yesterday’s was one of the most painful poems I have written ever. After a long time absent, I went to Chester in the afternoon, and at first was fascinated by the changes I saw.
But then wife and daughter began to zero me out; as they frequently do when together; as they never will recognise when challenged.
And I am afraid no longer will I tolerate this. My daughter is delightful when conversing with me by herself; the previous Tuesday in Pret in Liverpool One was a fabulous example precisely of that. But my relationship with my wife is now so degraded that she, that is to say our daughter, instinctively – perhaps all too understandably – sides with and defends absolutely everything her mother will say.
And this is not my way.
And this has been all I can do.
And if I emerge from this once wonderful year by the skin of my teeth, with what little of my sanity that’s left even so still reasonably and sensibly intact, I shall count my blessings and the real value of whatever McJob I end up in, for the rest of my sore and oft unsightly life.