And so it was, buttering my toast this morning, I couldn't help but see my rods, standing all polite and miserable in the vestibule. Agh... Haven't fished for months. But why bother, without Thom? Of course, aside from losing my fishing pal and overall best friend the other loss in our not speaking is I don't get to hear about his mother, Karen. Naturally, I sometimes drive the longer way to and from work, just in case I spot her jogging on her usual routes. Let's be clear. My interest is not romantic but she fascinates me, still. I often fantasised about her when we were together and that didn't change when we parted. Occasionally I wank myself to sleep, remembering some of our more prosaic, lazy encounters ( as if in some occult way I am saying, God, I do not ask for much...) Sometimes I elevate this interest into a paternal concern for her. She had an alcoholic, somewhat itinerant father, and I always felt a keen need to protect her from the world and its shabby men, even though she never asked it of me, and was always capable of dealing with anything. More than me, possibly. But I have news of Karen. George called last night. He was in a fever, having just returned from a Bikram Yoga class. Karen was there! And so I walked to work this morning, the better to reverie a little. Is running not enough for her? Does she now need a physical experience more closely tuned to the emotional and, if so, what bearing does this have on her life with Serena? In particular, their sex life? And if, just possibly, it transpires their sexual life is neither expressive, nor harmonious, then what does that portend for the future of their relationship? And if, just possibly, this discord is transmitted to Thom, then what effect will this have upon him, a boy already estranged from his own father? And if, just possibly, the romantic relationship ends then what is the future for this boy, Thom? Will he need to build bridges with his father and, if so, how will he feel when he finds out his father has removed their fishing rods from the vestibule and stored them away in the attic because, frankly, they destroyed his peace. Especially at breakfast. And so I swung open the door, arriving at work in a vibrant, demented mood.