There's a couple of furores in the homeland today. Charlie is worried that more of his itimate calls to Cammy, although I think the world has had enough of those conversations. Meanwhile, the local Tory party, indeed, all, of the Tory Party is up in arms about Tony's Labour veto on Lady Maggies planned state funeral.

Can you imagine being Lady Maggie whilst this argument silts around your ankles? You're not dead yet, but they're planning. Scheming from their corners, whilst ignoring all or any of your personal wishes. I suppose it comes with the position of power that she held, but still, it's a bit like the offspring arguing who gets the best china, ignoring you whilst you shakily hold up your empty glass for another drink. I really do feel sorry for the old girl, as each party tries to win points from her future demise.

This wouldn't have affected me so much if it hadn't been for father of mine dearest. He's embarking on renovating the bathroom, adamently refusing to admit that now he's a little older, a great deal greyer and not as agile as he used to be from his army days, that it might be tad too big a job for him. You would think the beer belly would give it away.

The trouble is my father has his own ideas about how to do things. Especially DIY. In 1978, he started to build mother a brand new kitchen, which was still half finished in 2002 when it got bulldosed for brand new, completed and modern one. The former garage, which housed his car 15 years after it had last been driven was eventually turned into a "workshop", meaning it was stuffed filled with tatt that the parents could not bear to part with. And now, it's the turn of the bathroom - a total revamp and the removal of the bath that I used to share with my siblings as a child. And despite the modernisation, there are aspects he still wants to keep. Including the polystyrene tiles that he's been hoarding since 1978 that are no longer up to code. If he uses them, not only will they look vile, be a fire hazard and grow mouldy in a matter of months, they will also bring the house price down which will then fall to my mother. However, he's insisting on his personal tile choice as:

Dad - All of that won't affect me as it will be your problem when I'm dead

Maybe death is something you come to accept with age and my fathers mad method of dealing with it is to treat it with derision. But it's bloody hard to hear your father look towards his death as a minor problem and inconvenience, dismissing the act and it's effects. I don't think he actually considers how these words now will affect those who will probably be left behind. The, my father is so stubborn that I expect him to outlive all of us, whilst sitting in his armchair and deriding the modern world. But if he should leave us behind, I don't think that the main thing on my mind will be that of the bathroom ceiling tiles and if they were up to code. I think the prevalent thing would be that I would want my father back, no matter what the cost and despite the fact that sometimes most of the time, he irritates me

He may make my teeth grind and he may have bad taste, but he is my father and I do love him.