The saga of the mouse that my dad was sitting on for six hours is still rumbling along. I am convinced he has brought it into the flat with him, my dad on the other hand thinks that it is some kind of army trained mouse and climbed up the side of the block of flats, crawled along the side of the block (with nothing to hold on to) and lept onto our balcony and in through the balcony door.
When I pointed out that the mouse would have to have had special equipment for him to be able to make that journey, he then blamed me. Apparently I brought the mouse into the flat when I ventured to the park to play football. Because we are always reading about how mice wait for an unattended (and incredibly smelly) football bag to dive into.
It was on the cushion he uses when he goes to hospital in his wheelchair. So somehow HE DID bring it into the flat. But he never admits anything, I’m still looking for the guy who keeps sneaking into our bathroom and pissing all over the floor and wall. 😛
I packed Tracy back off to Manchester yesterday. I think she was relieved to be honest because she was getting annoyed at us having to sit in the bedroom for hours, waiting for my dad to go to bed, because we could not watch the TV without him boring us to death about the hospital.
Fucking hell, I wish he would talk about something else once in a while.
I am running the 2018 London Marathon to raise money for Livability UK in memory of my dad. If you can I'd appreciate any donation you can spare. http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/deansaliba