Rik's occasional PLM post

PLM, in case you're wondering, stands for "Poor Little Me". Join me as I wallow in my current fit of blue vapours ...

23 Sept - Maisie's funeral has been arranged for 26 Sept; we'll miss it as we'll be on holiday. Guilt trips ensue.

24 Sept - Off to Cyprus. They've shrunk the airline seats (again); the plane dinners continue to worsen in quality (thank you, Monarch Airlines); departure from Gatwick is almost as chaotic as arrival in Pafos. At least the apartment is nice and roomy.

25 Sept - Limassol sucks big time. Everything is expensive; the quality of the food is limited; every other nightclub is topless. At least we can console ourselves with the entire series 3 of Desperate Housewives.

29 Sept - Today it rained all day. On my birthday. In Cyprus. Not that we could do much: we both have food poisoning from the alleged taverna we visited the night before. At least we can console ourselves by watching the entire series 1 (new version) of Doctor Who.

1 Oct - the coach taking us on our day trip to Famagusta never turned up to collect us. Thank god for Vicky (our tour rep) who argued with the company and got them to send a taxi to collect and race after the coach - we finally boarded the bus on the motorway 10 miles from the borders. Even so, not enough time in Salamis or Famagusta to make the day really enjoyable.

2 Oct - Off to Pafos for a couple of days, travelling under our own steam. An adventure! With very uncomfortable seats. At least the apartment is nice and roomy, if a little jaded at the edges.

3 Oct - My partner gets an excellent birthday - Tombs of the Kings, mosaics, the works! The best day of the holiday so far!

4 Oct - We decide to take the regular bus service back to Limassol. When we finally find the bus station and ask when the next bus leaves, we're told "Monday". Aaargh! These people can't even organise a bus service on this bloody island! Luckily we manage to contact the service taxi firm and get a seat on their next run - which takes a very scenic route lasting 3 hours.

5 Oct - Our first burn day on the beach. We get burned. Very burned. Ouch!

7 Oct - Our second burn day on the beach lasts all of 40 minutes. Bloody clouds! At least we go home tomorrow.

8 Oct - Package travelling back to Gatwick. The airports at both ends are even more chaotic than the outbound journey. Two bastards checked their bags in but never bothered to get on the plane. Bastards! Another hour added to the pleasure of sitting in too-small seats on the planes while they remove the unwanted bags from the hold.

8 Oct - Back home - finally at 10pm. Cups of tea; rummaging through mail; listening to voicemail messages. Two phone calls from Mother - she sounded distressed so I phone her back.

8 Oct - My brother Alan died at work on Tuesday (7 Oct). Probably a heart attack. Very quick. Mum's distraught on the phone. Alan was 53 years old. What sort of fucking age is that for keeling over dead at work?

9 Oct - To Dymchurch by train. Hugs for Mother. Answering the endless phone calls. Talking. Arranging. Numb, numb, numb!

10 Oct - Sorting through my brother's papers - office work; easiest for me to do as I have the experience for it. Then visiting his home to search for more stuff, start sorting, start packing, start feeling again. In the evening I decide to go for a drink down the pub - but can't walk through the door. This was Alan's place, he won't be there tonight. Not ever again. This isn't a fucking joke.

12 Oct - Back in London and checking my money. Is there a crisis in the money markets? Probably: that bastard financial advisor who told me how to invest my redundancy money might not have given me the best advice. I wanted a deposit account; he sold me an investment plan. Eight thousand quid gone. It's nothing. My brother's dead: why worry about money when there's bigger perspectives to consider, yes?

ps: Maisie's funeral lasted all of 10 minutes. Some people in this world are more fucked than me, it seems.