23rd May By Jingo

My Dad is the only person I’ve ever met that actually says things like “By Jingo” and “Jings” and blazes, blinking and all those other non-swear swearie words. I’ve never even heard him say bloody. Even now, trapped in his ever tightening cell, his window on the world closing and closing, he never lets slip a bugger instead of a blast it all. “Well blow me”, that’s another favourite. What does that mean then – apart from the obvious?

I’d not be like that – I’d be a swearing mess. I’d be a tourrettes Tommy of a dementia person. If you stripped away my social niceties, took off my cloak of respectability, I’d be a horrible old woman. I’d shout and scream and frighten. I’d not go gently. I’m going to burn and rave at close of day. I will rage, rage against the dying of my light.