The Old Man got up at 05:21, exactly the same time as on the Saturday. He agreed to go back to bed for half an hour. I was pleased to see that he was wearing his pyjama top and bottom rather than his daytime polo shirt and underpants.
“It’s the Old Firm match today,” I told him.
Later, after coming back downstairs from the toilet, he complained:
“I’m cracking up,” and “I don’t know what will happen with me.”
“Are you in pain?” I then asked him.
“Not really. As long as I don’t move.”
That afternoon, I drove back to Suburbia Somnolenta.
[Original posting 13 March 2010]