The Crying Game

Life is definitely on the up in BB's world.

I've been channelling my day-time thwarted creative into night-time writing, playing music to the max on my sound system, hanging out with my friends and generally being beyond grateful for how chilled and drama free (for the first time in a long while) my life is right now.

Hanging out with Pop on Sunday turned up my life dial up to heartbreaker volume.

Although I hate to admit it, he's finally (after years of defying it) beginning to age.  You can actually see his body and mind slowing down, as well as watching mornfully as he's forced to take mountains of tablets, for nearly every new aliment that attaches itself to him.

The more frail he bcomes, more I treasure his sarky don't give a damn rants,  memory laiden tales, wise words and his golden ability to somehow maintain a rose-coloured belief in me and what I can achieve; to such a feverish pitch that he puts me to shame.

I was fine until we hugged it out at the end of my day with him and I realised just how tiny and fragile he is now.

The exact reverse of how things used to be when I was a kid. Then Pop seemed like the strongest, kindest, tallest man in the world to me.

I almost made it home, but I finally lost it in Victoria Station. That's right, I sat down on one of those horrible plastic waiting seats and had a little cry.

Sure it makes me a total wimp, but maybe it's just the measure of how much I love that feisty little old man, my Pop.