Just went to an awesome, and my first Poetry gig tonight; Mike Garry and John Cooper Clark. My son is at another party, getting an Uber halfway across the county with 3 other lads, potential for vomit in the back of the cab, I’m sat in my comfy chair, listening to Mike Garry and The Cassia String Quartet, sipping cold wine while my daughter is drinking green tea in Manchester; keeping her regular, and as the minutes pass I’m thinking “When the fuck is he going to get home”. The wine has been topped up, and I’ve just heard he’s at someone’s house in the village, safe, but 16. And he’s been on the pop for days, trying to stay at the pub, where his friend lives. It’s a non negotiable situation, I’ve told him he’s home at 2 or the shit will hit the fan.

Funny how the evening unfolds into the early morning, I can’t be doing with staying up into the early hours on a weeknight, working will become even more of a bind than it already is pointless; a pointless exercise undertaken with the tiredness of panda eyes.

Sausage party round my mates tonight, its his birthday and he wants us to bring sausages, there will be girls; its not one of those sausage parties.