I feel so lame. My mother is so upset about Beryl and I can't do anything to make her feel better. She's like a little tense, sad bird and I'm this big galumphing puppy making cups of tea and stupid jokes. I went to the garden centre with her and we bought potted daisies and ground cover succulents, and she and Brent and I watched The Jewel in the Crown on UKTV and the first episode of Ken Burns' Civil War (cheering stuff!), and she has a cough and has put her back out and is miserable and is still being brave and doing her best to be cheerful and I am utterly, utterly impotent and pathetic, and the funeral is Tuesday. God. I came home and cried and threw the ball for the dog for ages in the dark, just to feel like I was achieving something.

Per Brent's concerned suggestion, I will smoke pot and eat toast with vegemite and vanilla peach jam, and watch the third Beatles Ed Sullivan show, and tomorrow I will go back to being a little more impersonal on the blog. OK. Plan in place. Action stations.