The first entry in my personal journal for the year 2009 reads: here we are at the start of another year. What will it bring, other than my mother’s death? She’s nearing the front of the queue for Heaven’s Gate. There’s no saying when it will open and she’ll pass through, but pass she will at some point in the coming months. The doctors have spoken. Her treatment plan has switched to a spine-chilling end of life plan and consists solely of palliative care. Part of me believes the doctors have got it wrong and she’ll go on living. I suppose I share such beliefs in common with all who face the loss of a loved one.

Those words didn’t transfer to my online diary, or anywhere else. They were too painful. I didn’t want to share or even own them.

Brevity pretty much set the diary precedent for 2009 and also 2010, the years I later titled my annus horribilis years. Looking back, I can see how troubled I was. I lost all enthusiasm for wittering and yarn spinning. The diary fell by the wayside. Entries were sparse, comprising of unsynchronised chatter. Chapters of this boy’s modest life story were left untold, and I guess that’s what this ledger is about, telling some of those untold stories for better or worse.

So, Gilli, I hear you ask (and really I wish you wouldn’t because your constant interruptions ruin my train of thought) is this slice of houseboy witterings going to be all doom and gloom then, because it sounds like it? Yeah, I’m afraid so, people, so stock up on antidepressants and alcohol and make sure you have the Samaritans on standby ready to take your call when it all becomes too much.

Nah! I’m just kidding. There were some upbeat moments. Such is life - a palette of many shades. Hmm, methinks I should get a job writing naff platitudes for a fridge magnet company.

In terms of time this tome picks up directly from ‘Christmas at Leo’s.’ Why? Because it’s relevant and even if it isn’t relevant I want it to, so there!

Don your protective eye goggles, folks, while I uncork my handy phial of magic travel glitter to whisk us back to the latter days of December 2008. We don’t want a visit from the health and safety executive if sparkle particles go astray. Here goes.  Sprinkle-sprinkle. Glitter-glitter…

copyright - Gillibran Brown 2020


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