My first uncle, his wife, and his eldest daughter have just arrived. They smell like their Jaguar, which after all this time still has that nauseating new-car smell that is actually hazardous to your health, and does nothing for me beyond giving me a migraine and nausea.
As usual, they’ve brought a half a chicken and a quarter of a pig along with them for lunch. A lunch for five people, three of which eat half that of a normal human being’s intake. I will never understand it.
The weakness is still there. The mind is unwilling, and the flesh is weak, too many things, too little desire to see anything through.
You, will be, the death, of me.
And our time is running out.
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