I have fourteen pairs of knickers.


and writer's block

Siblings

Just made toast . Half 11 pm.Need to go to bed.

Thinking about my big sister Miranda who has multiple sclerosis.

Thinking about the laughs we had together.

Remember her playing the cello with gusto in the old fashioned dining room. She was in love with David Juritz and Bread. Freezing rooms in her digs in London.

The student in a bath of beans and the priest who gave up the cloth.

Thinking about her blowy auburn hair and how long it took to dry.

I remember her not wanting to hold my hand as we crossed the road outside the convent. She is 7 years older than me. I was 10. I imagine 10 year old hands are sticky and horrible when you're 17.

Remember her physics boyfriend who came top in everything. He had ginger hair. Miranda said she never loved him. But I think she admired his brain.

She met her husband Phil. They lived together in a high-up flat.

Dad and mum were unsure about the arrangement.

Miranda and Phil had a row round about now. Catastrophic it was.

I'm remembering Miranda having children. Five children. Powney Road. Cots. Nappies. Gorgeous babies. Such a happy couple. 

All of us brothers and sisters are gathered around playing pop quiz.

Can't write any more.