God, what a day...

Met my Dad at lunchtime, picked him up from out front of the Big Department Store & we strolled down to the Bull & Bear for a few quiet ones.

Had my satchel with me today, because Winston caught me in the Beehive lobby yesterday & asked me to pick up his weekly duty free Gaulloise package from the Diplomatic bag, so needed something bigger than the briefcase.

Dad was in fine form. He's OK during the day mostly, the flashbacks don't kick in till later in the evening. Drives Mum spare when he crashes out the window yelling "Incoming!". Especially as they live on the third floor. And she's getting tired of having to apologise to the Asian neighbours, they shouldn't have to endure some of the things he does when he gets carried away... I keep telling him to get over it. The Tet Offensive was a long time ago. You lost, live with it.

Just wish he'd change out of that stupid coat & hat before we go anywhere. Feel like I'm escorting a fucking leprachaun. But he's feircely proud of the store. And to be honest, I'm a bit afraid of what he might be wearing (or not wearing) underneath the coat to press the issue.

And as for that stupid preacher mate of his we passed on the way... that steel plate they put in his head after the Burmese Operation went wrong doesn't seem to have infused his mind with any sense. Still, dad loves him. They get quite dreamy when they have a session reminiscing about the old days. Or what they can remember of them. Dad sleeps well for a few days after that. Although that could be down to the drugs the Preacher seems to have a neverending supply of...

But as usual, dad doesn't know when enough is enough. OK, that guy at the pub shouldn't have called him a poofter. But after inflicting a broken arm & beating him unconscious, dad should know when to stop. I'd have grabbed him, but I was busy fending off his 5 mates. Only 4 of them will require hospital admittance. I tried to warn them. I just managed to take out the last 2 of them in time to administer an emergency tracheotomy to Dad's guy with a broken Bellamy's pen.

I expect as usual, the Store will spring for the damages, they're very good to dad. And the Department will, as usual, see to it that word of the incident doesn't get out. They do it for me, plus, there are still a few old warhorses around that remember the work Dad did for them in the 50s, and they wouldn't want anything about that to get out.

So it was a bit more peaceful than the last few lunches we've had. The unfortunate capper was though, as we were leaving, I slipped on some guy's blood, sprained my ankle, and broke the zip on the satchel.

bugger.

Yours... The GC