Holiday Highlights(Gone Fishin'!)
We are taking a short break and will be back in early January. In the meantime, here’s some highlights from this year, as selected by the Seizure crew.
Mr Bishop’s face was the colour of raw meat and his hair, which he tried to comb across his head, resembled the fluff of newborn chickens. Not a prepossessing face. But he was tall. And broad. He was thirty when I met him but even then he carried a precocious middle-aged paunch around his waist. He wore the same suit to class every day in the colder months and in the warmer months he wore a hat which made whole classrooms of students hum the Indiana Jones tune when they heard his footsteps at the door.
She looked strangely similar to me – she’d the same dark kind of hair that fluffed into the air, the same bony knees and thick thighs. Long before we met people would ask if I had a twin. (She the same, I later learnt.) And then we met and got on so well: ‘peas in a pod’.
A decision had to be made, and because he was very old she felt she had to make it for him. There was a diagnosis that was irrefutable. There were pressures for and against: if he did not have the operation it was certain death, but that death would probably be slow, he might live for many more months, even years. If he had the operation he might recover and live a great deal longer, but it was a risk because of his age.
‘Seven, eight, nine,’ he mouthed silently. From the first time he laid his hand to it, he had been counting himself off. ‘Forty-one. Forty-two.’ It wasn’t a race. It wasn’t a competition. It wasn’t even obsessive compulsive; it was just what he did – like having a storyline that accompanied the act.