Wednesday 16th December 2020

I was already 50% through the week, well on my way to my Christmas holibobs.

It would be wonderful but for the uncertainty around in the company due to the takeover, and although I now know no matter what happens we can survive, it would be nice to have finally got in this position to be able to save some serious money, go on a holiday off a lifetime, and maybe do up the house. Get a new camera. Maybe two. A selection of lenses. Some new windows. New carpets.

But it will be hard for us to lose the roof over our heads, so we will endure.

Jools is up at five, I lay in bed contemplating the day ahead and how we got here, and just 14 years ago I was so poor I was about to be made insolvent, lose the house.

As it happens, on Monday, the final payment from Mum's estate came through, which we invested every penny, except for fifty quid to buy a bunch of roses for my solicitor.

I thought back to the Sunday evening I arrived at Mum's after she died, and found the house overflowing with shit, the remains of her last battle still on the living room carpet; wrappings of medical equipment, fluids and so on. Her chair sat behind, empy of her, but surrounded by Pringle tubes, all empty save for the one she used as an ash tray. The pockets of the chair were full of decades old humbugs and toffees, all going soft and oozing out of their wrappers. The dining room table was full of shortbreads, chocolates and jars containing money. The last of those jars we emptied last week too; bags of 50s, 20s and coppers amounting to £113.00, coupled with the £460 in £2 coins we gave Sheila.

The house was stuffed with shit, so much it was impossible to know where to start. And then there was the paperwork to be done, her death to be registered, funeral to be arranged, and so on.

I did in within 72 hours and was on my way home by then, the house empty, admin done and solicitor instructed. From then it was easy.

And now all that is left is two small folders of documentation, certificates all showing I did things things right.

All over.

I ponder that I never saw Mum dead. Jools did, but not me. All I ever saw was paperwork, all legal. So my last memory of her was her struggling to stay awake in her chair, hair snow white and her skin paper thin due to lack of sunlight, a woman scared to tackle the steps into her own home.

A prisoner.

Jool made me coffee, showered and got dressed, leaving me with the cats, still dark outside, until dawn showed in the south east.

I took a photograph. In fact, I took several.

And then for a shower myself, and to work, in the other chair at the dining room table.

I have few mails to deal with, deal with those, make a second coffee.

The day is slow. I listen to a podcast, watch Only Cnnect sitting on the sofa with my taptop on top of my lap. I figure that's what it's for.

Lunchtime comes and I have breakfast. Crazy guy.

In the afternoon I make a Spansih stew, of a kind. The day before I had seen a recipe, which seemed easy. So I fried chopped oinion and garlic, added a tin of tomatoes, wam though then leave.

Just before serving I will warm up, add a sliced chorizo and make some rice boiled in beef stock rather than water.

It was wonderful, all served once Jools got home, half an hour late thanks to the traffic.

Dinner was fantastic, nice and spicy, but not too bad.

And then to watch Norwich on the tellybox, playing Reading, who were in the chasing pack. Was expected to be a tough game, but City produced their best performance of the season, running out 2-1 winners to go back to the top of the league and be on a four-game winning run.

Weeeeeee!