Midway through this life

The light that comes through my window is a pale straw yellow. But it is the noise which pains me. A sound of regret - a plaintive plea. It boils up from the basement of this oversized suburban nightmare and positively tears through my soul.

Because I know what it is.

Joey Bishop's demented relative. His aunt, or sister-in-law, whatever it is. What am I doing that makes me deserve this treatment, this torture?

Enough already.

I need to steady myself. Just open the door, ask her why she's making that noise? Why is she phoning up the newspapers? Just stop.

Which she does eventually. And when she returns, grinning, to the assembled company, she announces, eyebrow raised:

"You've run out of lozenges. You may need to get some more."