1 July

My dad died 14 years ago, on this day. I post that not to get any sort of well-wishes, please don't, but because I think about him every day. His hands are typing this message, mine are almost an exact copy of his. It feels right to remember him in a pandemic, a man who spent his childhood pulling bodies out of bombed buildings, trying to cope with life under the Nazis, and then relocating to a strange country with nothing and building a highly successful life from the ground up. He's probably the reason I'm so contemptuous of those who make trivial things like staying home in a pandemic triggers for serious mental illness. You'll never convince me that's anything except laughable. Miss you Wolfie. I hope they have good headphones and a comfortable chair where you are.