With standard fireworks.

light up the sky

(has been continuing)

Ok, you’re being a bit too cryptic, even for me.

Sorry.

What’s going on exactly? I have you getting rained upon in a black hole, somewhere in Eastbourne where you might also be sipping Rioja watching fireworks over the sands near the bandstand as the 1812 overture was being played and it wasn’t a holiday.

You’re a bit mixed up; the black hole was inside and the rain was outside as we walked to the bench by the bandstand which was at night time otherwise the fireworks would have been a disappointment.

And they weren’t?

Most certainly not, they were brilliant- though I had just drunk half a bottle of Rioja.

And you said it was twice in a lifetime.

Deathtime, maybe.

Has someone died?

No, but she’s not well.

Who?

My Aunt.

Ivy?

I only have one.

Isn’t she 150?

94; next month.

What happened?

She fell, got tangled up in bed clothes, lay there for hours, maybe days – no one knows – went into hospital, got sent to a rehabilitation/monitoring/prison service for a couple of months and they said she couldn’t go home, no way.

What’s her home like?

A black hole.

Where is she today?

In a home.

I’m confused.

So is she, there’s a room available next to her’s, I’ll have a word with the matron.

Who’s the matron?

Simone, she runs tea with matron every Sunday.

I want to go to that!

That’s what I said!

 (to be continued)