In Search of Oldton

OK, so maybe I do know where my dad has gone, more or less.

We scattered his ashes at sea. Presumably he resides in the guts of a dozen mutant cod. Or he's on the beach again, this time mingled with seaweed, globs of oil, dead jellyfish, muscle shells and mermaid's purses.

I have a little pot, a tobacco jar which I fancy would have been a better place to keep him. He could haunt me there in a more conventional way. And I'd be able to keep tabs on him.

As it is, I'm finding it hard to locate him at all. Until I can piece together a little world of memory for him to live in, my dad will always be a closed book.

Writers for the Future