Stomach cramps awaken. Approximately half past four. Just too late to be the witching hour, it seems. I wonder did Dad wake at the same time, his mind furiously plotting the next blog post or decanting re-sitting university exam dreams well into his adult life. This is the time that I often wake. Usually with some nonsense from work playing out in my head, or with a wonderful idea that needs to be urgently committed to paper as it contains the nugget of the next ‘Great American Novel’. I’m neither American or F. Scott, so, balderdash!

To my right is a sleepy dog, somewhat perturbed at being woken, but I’d warrant glad for a quick sniff in the garden; no foxes. To my left are two books. I’d thought about picking up the one I am currently reading, but remembered it was in the car. I closed the living room door, turned on the lamp and squinted at the bookcase. I was looking for a certain book on emotional intelligence. Why? Because of aforementioned nonsense in work. Bored of the idea as soon as I picked it up, my hands soon settled on Penelope Lively’s ‘Life in the Garden’. This gem is then placed on the table by the couch. Remembering that my glasses are in the car with the current novel, I crept up the hall and memory tentatively extended my hand in the dark to retrieve a pair of spectacles from the desk in the ‘office’ (a.k.a box room. Notions!). Success. Now, having settled into the corner of couch, I commence the serious act of reading. No sooner have I started to read, than I realise these glasses have some treatment on them to reduce glare and other such vagaries of modernity. Nuts to this, I’m off to the car. Hence the garden sniffs for her ladyship.

Glasses and novel retrieved, I’m only 4 pages into the introduction and I already have one future postal recipient of a copy of the book in mind. It is already amusing and a potential wonder. The other book, by the way, is John Le Carré’s ‘Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy’. First time reader, multiple times viewer. I’m embarrassed to say how long I’ve been reading it, so I shan’t. Lets just say that its been in my pocket at airports & train stations for quite some time. Also, I’ve rewatched Alec Guinness’s Smiley numerous times since Dad died. There are no words to describe the sheer perfection of his Smiley. Yesterday was fabulous, however, as while on the train to Dublin, I finally got to the point in the story where Smiley figures it out. Great!

There are a collection of television adaptations that provide the matrix for the 1990’s. In the years after my parents initial move to Ireland, Dad’s mental health took a nose-dive. I’m contemplating using the adjective ‘severe’ for that. During this time, I think he managed to retain some portion of his sanity with a televisual baseline of familiar narratives. Three things were more or less always on. It will likely take me the rest of my life to unpack these stories, as they became so intertwined in my adolescence (what a peculiar word that is). One TV. Small screened, no remote and second hand. One video player, old and noisy.

‘Jewel in the Crown’, ‘Brideshead Revisited’, and ‘Tinker Tailor’. On repeat. For what seems like an eternity. When you walked in the room, some part of the trilogy would be on. Stay a while, share the space with Dad, try to figure out where you were in which show and try to be quiet. Not necessarily a bad thing, but sometimes you want to watch ‘Animaniacs’, ‘Garfield and Friends’ or that time Nottingham Forest beat Man United at the City Ground and your celebrations of the Forest winner resulted in a dead-arm from your older brother, much to your fathers annoyance. Do you remember that? Of course you don’t! Such is life. However, as the years have passed I’ve managed to get to grips with part of the mixed narrative. ‘Tinker Tailor’ is getting clearer, as is ‘Smiley’s People’. I’m glad I purchased them on DVD and glad that DVD ownership is still possible. I’m not sure if digitally we’ll ever have the same tangible sense of a thing. But now I hear dad’s voice telling me it’s all on you tube, if you can stomach the adverts and the video clip 9 of 413…

‘Brideshead’ is under control, narratively speaking – more of a long game, I feel. I’ve read that one since the nineties. Although the last time I attempted to watch it, was since Dad died, I struggled to get beyond a certain point which escapes me right now. Once I’d got past the Monkhice family staple of “I do think you’d talk to me, Charles” from the sublime John Gielgud, a part of the desire to absorb narrative fled. I’m wondering if it will forever remain in the ether with dad. Time will tell. But the Jewel in the crown of complexity is ‘Jewel in the Crown’. Ho ho. I have dad’s DVD copy in the ‘office’ (Notions). I am scared to even attempt it again at this juncture. It is simply too much. I think I lack the emotional maturity to tackle it’s vast depth and unpack my memory of it while trying to finally understand its chronology.

I’ve gone way off-piste here. Oh dear. Sun is coming up, there is light peeking around the blind. Real life awaits. Stomach is unhappy, still. Big sigh from her ladyship on my right. 4 pages. Yes! What I wanted to share was this:

The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found   
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,   
Killed. It had been in the long grass.

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.   
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world   
Unmendably. Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence   
Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind   
While there is still time.

The Mower BY pHILIP lARKIN

Ed.