Who wants truth? I mean, really. Truth is the sickly cousin of life. Frankly, who wants to visit him? In fact, who doesn't long for the day when he can finally scream at his mother, scream so loudly that he is nearly bawling  his own house down, screaming that he has always hated seeing cousin Truth. In fact, he hates everything about him, him and his funny, retarded ways which are just not normal. Him, him and his jabbering lip, his funny elbow. Ah, but don't take my word for it. I barely had a mother, and certainly no cousins. Even as a teenager I found the truth a bore. But I can tell you one thing about it, the truth is not the reason you're here....Is it, cousin? You see, cousin, what I think has happened is this. The old family gene pool has come round to my way of seeing things. They're just not into you and the Truth anymore. All that hankering for you and your deep ponds has gone. Oh trust me, it has. We're dancing in the shallows, old cousin, and it's never been such fun. Come on, come dip your toe. And so it was, with the stoned clarity of these insane thoughts matching my stride, that I put the key in the door. It was early, it was Monday morning. Passing along the hallway, I wondered if Gareth were in the kitchen, stirring his coffee. At the sound of my tread, did he still his spoon? Further down the hallway I could hear Helen's voice. There can be no change without loss...And so it was, with the strong, solid banality of that phrase in my ears, I was able to ascend the stairs to my room and begin another day on this, the earth.