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."

Life is a cabaret old chum,

I recently received an email from an old friend, someone I hadn't heard from in ages.

Anyone familiar with my work will know about my "think tank" days. Naturally, I made a number of acquantiances through this network of minds. And yet, as time dissolves into a branching prism of moments, we do not always remain "in touch" with all the people who make our moments.

In any case, I was delighted to hear this voice from the past.

"I am finding the nightlife a little challenging. The stench of - to be honest, I'm not sure I really want to know - the stench we live with, the murders, the traffic, the general chaos. It can be lucrative, yes. But I just feel we could be doing so much more.

"But anyways, I digress. You may have wondered what has become of [NAME DELETED] - well I owe you $300! You called that one."

It can be remarkable, how our pasts create our presents.