Pynchon

QEII is 80 years old today! Happy birthday, Maaaaaaaaaaaaaam! I hope you are having a nice day.

(Bows and scrapes in a demeaning manner.)

More importantly, my Mom is 71 years old tomorrow. This evening we will be having the annual Mom's-Birthday-Feast, whereby the entire Pynchon clan will descend on a restaurant and will commence drinking, fighting and general chaotic behaviour. Sadly, this year, Lorraine will not be attending. She returned from Nottingham yesterday with a filthy cold and feels like shit.

Lorraine is talking to me now. Earlier she wasn't. Things went quite bad this morning quite quickly. All down to Lorraine's feelings about Middle Sister.

We intended to go to see Disney's "Eight Below". (Lorraine wasn't feeling so bad earlier.) On the bus into town I read in the Metro about the upcoming George Michael greatest hits tour. I said to Lorraine that I would quite fancy getting tickets for that, if at all possible. I asked Lorraine if she would like to go to see George Michael live. Lorraine said that she would. I told Lorraine that I would see if Middle Sister wanted to go. (Middle Sister and me saw George Michael in 1988 on the "Faith" tour and in 1991 on the "Listen Without Prejudice" tour and were knocked out. Fantastic, brilliant performer. During her teens George Michael was Middle Sister's pop hero.) Lorraine said, "Do we have to tell (Middle Sister) about the George Michael tour? You know what she's like".

Ahem. OK. I hit the fucking roof.

Yes, I know what Middle Sister is like. She is big, fat, full of neuroses, has borderline learning difficulties and no life. Some of you might remember my frustration at the way that events unfolded when Middle Sister, my Brother and me went to see Oasis in Manchester last year, and how I vowed never to go to a gig with her again. But guess what? She's my fucking Sister and... George Michael has always been our thing.

I told Lorraine that she was a selfish and spiteful cow and how fed up I was with her attitude to my family. It didn't go down well. We had a stand up argument in the street and I ended up walking quickly away from her. (I don't hit women, but Christ forgive me, I got close.) It was pretty difficult walking quickly away with bad feet, as well. (After yesterday's major wankerdom in walking to town, I am now a cripple).

Somehow I lost Lorraine in town. I didn't do it on purpose. After wandering around the normal haunts, hoping to run into her, I went around to my Mom's to stew and sulk. Lorraine called me using the mobile. We were icily polite to each other. I asked Lorraine if she still wanted to see "Eight Below". She said No. She said she was going home.

I got home a couple of hours ago. Lorraine is speaking to me. You would think that nothing had happened, but it did. I'm not going to say anything.

Is this what they call a tumultuous relationship? If I didn't love her, at this precise moment, I wouldn't give a shit about ending it. Perhaps if we fucked occasionally, things would be better?

And on that downer, I'm off. I'll catch up with what everybody else is doing later.