Is it any wonder?

I was nine years old when I stumbled upon the book Death, Dissection and the Destitute while going through the book shelves in search of Treasure Island. It was certainly a grand coming to terms with what my mother as Dr. and head of department deals with on a daily basis. I sort of waved the book at her at the time, expecting admonishment and an apology- and she told me to read it, because it was 'utterly fascinating.' I flicked through it. Lots of long words. Lots of mental images that haunted me for years.

I thought that this moment in all its rather gory glory (sorry, sorry) couldn't be topped; but actually it turns out I was wrong. My mother is currently applying for a pay rise at her hospital and has left little written notes to herself scrawled on envelopes around the house -
Reason to grant this No. 2: Have identified weakness in departmental and trust protocols for handling the bodies of dead patients.

This time my coming face to face with her job doesn't come complete with pictures, so you'd think it would be monumentally less vivid. You'd be wrong.

I did, of course, have to ask about this. I don't care if it turned up again - they lost a corpse on its way to the hospital morgue. They. Mislaid. A. Corpse.

I hate my imagination right now.

__________________

Two week hiatus. Back soon.

I'm a little jealous of my little sister. Being, as we know, a pretentious ex-boarding schoolian, I missed out on a whole bundle of the stuff she's up to (no, I don't mean things like the blowjob-in-the-park incident), things like traveling about in a pack.
I find this quite interesting; she's fifteen, and spends roughly all her time with a group of about ten mates; they're a nomadic bunch, settling in different houses until whoevers parent is at home loses patience and slings them out on their respective ears to find somewhere else. They descend on a house like locusts, eating everything in their path - and boy, can these kids eat - and enveloping everything from laundry to cats to small children in their wake.
But yeah, I'm a little jealous. And all this means the house does not, as such look unlived in, even from the outside.

This morning I was sitting out on the front steps with Joel sharing a smoke when we were approached by a man wearing one of those hats with the flaps (you'll know what I mean. I want to call it a Russian hat, but thats not factually accurate. And I'm all about that.) he hovered by us for maybe a full minute while we stared at him. "Um, I've been observing this house for some time," he said, "as it appears to be unoccupied. And then I saw you just now, and, well. I think it's such a nice house, and it seems a shame for it to be left in this condition... do you know if its for sale at all?"

Now, this house is currently home to six murderous cats (currently they're mostly focusing on shrews, which is fine. Have I told the story of coming back from uni, collapsing on the couch, only to encounter a cold dead squirrel staring up at me?) two extremely noisy dogs, me and Joel (my mothers away again, and I've been landed with les enfants. Which is fine. It's almost Christmas. Bribery's the name of the game) Fiona and her pack, Theo and his mates. There's also full scale electrical work being done so workmen are in and out of the house at all hours, the postman visits everday, as does the milk man and Janet the cleaning lady pops in at least once a day "I was just passin', lovvie" to make sure I haven't left the gas on/ let Theo drown himself in his night time bath/ introduced Fiona to tequila/ turned the house into a crack den/ sold my siblings into white slavery. That sort of thing.
The house is not, as such, bereft of inhabitants.

So I've been trying to work out exactly when this man could have been watching the house. Any time from four onwards its dark and the house is blazing with every light left on, the TV blaring away, several different types of music doing combat from respective rooms, and someone's guaranteed to be sat out the front sneaking a kiss or a smoke.

"I should get back in," I said, standing up and doing the I'm-so-cold dance. "Make sure Fi isn't using Theo for pin the tail on the donkey again."
Joel stood up with me and wrapped his arms round my waist, drawing me close. "They'll be fine. About time the kid learned to stop pimping himself out for sweets, anyway." His hands were sneaking up under my top.
"OK, point taken. Now stop that. You're poaching."

When can he be watching? The dead of night, I thought. But no; someone's guaranteed to be burning the midnight oil, be it me or Joel, or Theo in the aftermath of a nightmare. And then the kids are in school (for which I have a newfound appreciation) so they're up and bopping about for half seven (everyone in my life is great in the morning, waking up all bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to take on the world, or at least eat breakfast. I can't eat until lunchtime, and my inner brat lurks dangerously close to the surface until I get some coffee). Fi hops on the bus, which comes for her right outside the front gate so she's easily seen hovering by the road each morning. Theo gets walked to school, I come home, let the electricians in, go to sleep. Wake up, collect Theo. And the cycle begins again.

So when on earth has he been 'observing' the house?

And is it just me who finds this slightly creepy?