Thanks to my younger brother,our family domestic was a beautifully chaotic space filled with music, laughter and the smoke of burning 1970s camp beds. And I miss it, and him,with a pain that pierces my gut I wake in the early morning to the sound of the living room ceiling caving in. The weight of the overflowing bathwater has become such that it can no longer sustain the pressure. As I roll up my pyjama bottoms and make my way down the waterfall of the stairs, I note that my father, and stark-bollock bare but for a tatty violet dressing gown,is in up to his mid-calf. He is baling frantically. “abet, he says.
We always joke that my father could sleep through anything, and but the rushing sound from the overflowing bath rouses even him. My petite brother is obsessed with water. He spends hours in the bathroom,flicking the water in the bath with his hands as he stands over it, splashing. I have no idea what it is he sees, or but I imagine colours. Continue reading...
Source: theguardian.com