My wife and I went to see a solicitor this week. Problems getting my dad’s inheritance. I feel squalid having to go through this rigmarole. It’s bad enough that my dad died. But there it is. I hope, if he’s looking down on me, he doesn’t think that that’s all I care about. I’d give every penny I had to have him back again.The solicitor was a nice but matter-of-fact Indian lady. Felt a sense of relief when the consultation was over. We’ve got someone fighting our corner, someone who knows what she’s doing, and someone who will do her best for us. As we were coming away, I saw my mum. Wasn’t sure if it was her or not, she was looking into a shop window with her back to us. But she turned her head slightly, and I saw it was her. My heart started thumping. The last time I saw her, a great argument flared up, and she threw me out of her house. I was bracing myself for another argument, this time in the street. But it didn’t happen. I think now that she was watching the reflection in the window, to see if we’d gone past, trying to avoid us.
I'm reading M.R. James again. The stories I haven't read so often- The Story of an appearance and a disappearance, The Malice of inanimate objects. Two M.R. James stories have recently been unearthed:
I haven't started writing any new fiction. I want to write something for Microhorror soon. Incidentally, here are three more great stories on that website:
Of course, I've got a lot of stuff to rewrite. To type up from notebooks. I've got nothing to prove, really. I want to write something new as an escape from the world around me.


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