Dear Dad Happy Birthday. You would have been 75 today. I was going to write something for Sunday, but you hated Father’s Day, thought it was commercial nonsense, though you were gracious about any cards, presents or phone calls. You were always gracious, actually, except when you were impatient because I was speaking slowly or [...]
THAT is one of the great first lines. I can’t get away from Stoppard it seems: we celebrated Mum’s birthday by going to see Arcadia. (I should also have remembered that the version of The Cherry Orchard which Dad and I saw at the Old Vic last summer was actually by Stoppard too). Et in [...]
Walking to St. George’s Market this morning, I watched the rowing eights on the Lagan and sang the Eton Boating Song. The Thames it ain’t, but we make the best of what we have. Or at least we try. It is an unfeasibly beautiful day in Belfast. Much as I love seeing the cherry blossoms [...]
So I’ve been reading Dad’s diaries, aptly enough. Aha, you think, now for the juicy bits. The scandalous adventures of the serial seducer of South Belfast, the capers of the Casanova of Cricklewood Park, in lurid prose. Not so fast. I’m not talking about that kind of diary. If you want secondhand sexploits go elsewhere [...]
I have been in Oxford for a couple of days and of course Dad was there too. I met him outside Oriel where, before I decided which college to apply to, he collared a couple of students and asked them what they thought of the place (fine if you’re sporty, not so much if you’re [...]
Sunday, February 21, 2010
I turn on Dad’s computer upstairs. Downstairs, he pops up on my Skype contacts list, the little green check mark beside his name indicating that he is available. For a fraction of a second, my heart leaps. All the long distance chats we had after I bought him the webcam and microphone. L.A., New York, [...]
