Preparing for tomorrow

– 3:48 pm

The bus driver

Liza’s taken her mum to the Chessington Garden Centre leaving you and I for a few hours. Your best pal GPops is at The Retreat. Your bicycle arrived this morning so I’ll take it over for him to assemble since it’ll live there. The whole thing was your grandmother’s request. She even picked the model your mother bought. I just chimed in on the colour. The next few days are going to be interesting.

I’ve been thinking about what becomes of you if something happens to me or your mother. Its potential impact on you weighs on my mind. This topic fills Liza with unease and anxiety. It’s understandably always a difficult conversation. She’s very evasive about it. But knowing everything I know, it’ll be a dereliction of duty not to take measures to protect your future the best we can.

Writing a will has been on the cards forever, we’ve danced around it for too long. A few days ago, I advocated for a decisive action (after another sombre dialogue). You never think it’ll happen to you until it does. I used to hear about nasty injuries people got playing football thinking, “That’ll never happen to me“. Until it did. There is a surrealness, a stark reality that settles on you when something like that happens and you realise just how fucking mortal and minuscule you are. So we’ve reached out to a lawyer to get the ball rolling.


As you know, no one in the family knows about this archive. Not even Liza (who’s back and sitting at the other end of the room). I think someone in the family should, just in case, Manu perhaps.