My gran - the French Mauritian one - was a bit of a hypochondriac; a characteristic I think The Father has inherited.
Yesterday my head nearly exploded. I had a post holiday depression headache so sore that I could barely rest my glasses atop my head from the severe pain that surged through my body, driving me very close to a fresh bout of bumilia. And so I phoned The Father for a little bit of sympathy.
The Father: Hi, Pant. Can I speak to The Daughter please?
The Pant: Um. I made the call, Dad. How are you?
TF: Fine thanks. The Baby Girl? Can I speak to her?
TP: I'm not that well, Dad. Worst headache - even worse than the hangover post Pan and Kettle.
TF: You know what, Pant. I once had a friend who had a headache-
TP: (Haven't we all?) Ya?
TF: And he took a few panados and went to bed and died that night because of a brain tumour the size of his fist. Had a big hand too. And you know what they say about guys with big hands?
TP: Big brain tumours?
TF: No. Big fists.
TP: Well, I did take some pills and then I fell asleep for two hours. And I've just woken up and it's still sore.
TF: Sounds like my big fisted friend.
TP: You think I have a brain tumour?
TF: It wouldn't be the first.
TP: I've had a brain tumour before?
TF: No. My big fisted friend did.
TP: Sheesh Dad. I'm a little worried now. What if I die?
TF: Should I set my alarm clock for every five minutes tonight to phone and see if you're still alive?
TP: We'll not get any sleep.
TF: Probably best that you don't get any sleep.
TP: I might just be coming down with flu.
TF: Then you definitely mustn't sleep.
TF: I once had a friend, who did a little bit of exercise when he had flu. And he went for a lie down and had a heart attack and died. Have you done any exercise today?
TP: Well, I walked to my car twice-
TF: That's enough to do it. Go and buy yourself 8 Red Bulls and don't sleep. Although, I read this newspaper article of this girl who had flu who drank Red Bull and died.
TP: Dad, I'm shitting myself a bit here. Do you think I'll be okay?
TF: I'm really not sure, Pant. The prognosis is not good. Do you have any muscular pain?
TP: Well, my one arm is a little sore.
TF: You know, I once had a friend. He had a sore arm and went for a swim in the ocean and it got bitten off by a shark.
TP: You think I'm going to lose my arm?
TF: All I'm saying is 'stay away from the beach'. And don't sleep. And don't drink Red Bull. Don't close your eyes. Don't move.
TP: You're scaring me a bit. Can I talk to Mom?
The Incubator: Dad says you're not feeling well. Got a bit of a headache?
TP: Yes. Do you think I'm going to die of a brain tumour/heart attack?
TI: Have you been drinking water?
TI: Have you made a poo today?
TP: (really?) No.
TI: Well, there's your problem.