Gogol wrote a short story (for the Russian-speakers out there (me: Russian Studies, Nottingham 1993) – Записки сумасшедшего). My blog is slowly becoming The Diary of the Son of a Madman.
Yesterday’s sitrep from bruv is that Sunray’s drinking is getting no better. If anything it is getting ever worse. “The bar is opening” ever earlier. Previously he’d start drinking at 1800. This year start time has “progressed” to 1500, and then in the last month to 1300. Three, maybe four times a week.
Can I do anything to help him? Of course I can!
- Fly over to England
- Sit all day in his house
- Keep him company all day
- Listen to all his “when I…” war stories
- Stand over him and stop him buying alcohol
(Let me buy my ticket now.)
In reality, however, I am not here to wipe everybody’s backside. I am not my brother’s or my father’s keeper. Frankly, I feel like Pontius Pilate, washing my hands of him. I can do no more than phone him every now and again, get the fountain pen out, drop him the occasional line and carry on with my own life and struggles. Truth is, I can do no more. To quote Pilate in John 18:38:
What is truth?
Have a sober day, won’t you?