Only minutes after I was gloating that my retirement pot had reached half a million pounds last Tuesday, mum called to say dad was knocked off his motorcycle and in hospital.
My pride. His fall. I’ve never read the Old Testament, however I’m pretty sure that is not the way Proverbs 16:18 is supposed to work. A car ran a red light and ruptured his bowel.
Not what you need at 82 years old. By the time I landed in Sydney, my plane was out of scotch and dad was out of theatre. Shit happens, I said to the surgeon. Let’s hope so, he replied.
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