I am Spartacus

Here’s an exchange I had today:

Hey Aunt B, let me take a picture of you in your new dressing gown. People have been concerned, so I want to send them a picture of you looking all cosy.

People? What people? Why are they ‘concerned’?

Oh you know – the kids, my ┬ámother… of course they’re concerned, because I said you were in hospital!

Your mother? You don’t have a mother.

Of course I do.

You don’t have a mother. You have a brother. And his name is Kate.

Er – well then what’s MY name then?

Ohhh, I’ve given up asking her.



Laura Orem February 2, 2013 at 2:16 pm

Oh, this is hilarious and heart-breaking at the same time. I want to hug both of you.

Ms Baroque February 2, 2013 at 4:51 pm

Oh it just made me laugh. She knows very well who I am, she was overjoyed to see me (and I her) and I mostly just felt sorry for my mother. Who, as it happens, she also thinks is not of a sufficient age to be trusted with much. Bless: it’s because she left the country in 1970. (& in 1970 my mother was running a 9-room house, several animals, three kids, the League of Women Voters, and a job.)

Sis February 2, 2013 at 7:42 pm

I’m so fucking glad you’re there with her. Can I say fuck here?

Simon R. Gladdish February 3, 2013 at 5:39 pm

Dear Katy

I thought you said that your sister was a polite and well-mannered girl!

Our Arvon brochure arrived last week. Some of their offerings look quite good but at 680 quid per person per course there is no way that Rusty and I will be participating any time soon. So much for literature for the masses!

Best wishes from Simon

Ms Baroque February 3, 2013 at 8:55 pm

Simon, we don’t know what to do with her.

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