Wilf's coming over tonight - he's here more and more these days, almost as if he has nowhere else to live. I don't mind him though - he doesn't eat much and brings his own duvet along with him. It's strange how one often finds one's self back in an old relationship, which I pretty much equate to popping on an old, worn pair of slippers. That sexy huh? Actually, I cannot really see the point of too much sex: it's OK I suppose if only indulged in during birthday, anniversary or festive occasions, otherwise it's a bit of a waste of good reading time.
I'm singing in a choir concert tomorrow which is being held in a local church; Father and Wilf will be in the audience. Father's strangeness seems to have multiplied since Mother's demise - he's now dressing as a Jester every other Friday and handing out sweets to the youngsters outside Lidl. The management of the budget supermarket have requested that he cease this activity, lest they call in the 'authorities', but he refuses to. Sometimes I wish that he'd continued to be an earthworm - at least they hang around together underground and don't make too much of a fuss about everything.
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