I’ve been working at home for weeks now. Writing about the Sevens. Gardening. Fixing a chair. Avoiding my pseudo-daughter-in-law and the baby. You’d think that if I gave them the house (them being the son, the pseudo-daughter-in-law, the baby), and moved to the bach at the bottom of the garden, they (the p-d-i-l and the baby) would leave me in peace. But no. The p-d-i-l keeps trying to persuade me to take an interest in the baby. Probably wants me to babysit. Whereas my son has stopped talking to me at all. Always on his cellphone when I see him, or rushing somewhere. He doesn’t accost me. Or drop by for a beer. And I miss that.
So apart from the gardening at my end of the property (behind the henhouse) I’ve not been out much, because it means going past the house and risking the p-d-i-l and the baby. And when I’ve been out I’ve been on a bus and/or on a mission. And during the day. And not looking at Kenny’s Cafe in Courtenay Place, where I used to go, where I went, with my best mate, after the movies. I haven’t been to the movies lately. Because my best mate died (not passed away, you’ll note, he DIED).
So I didn’t notice that Kenny’s Cafe has closed. I hadn’t noticed, until I read about it in the paper. Next it’ll be the UFS Pharmacy and Bennett’s Gift Shop. And that will be the end of the Courtenay Place I love.