I went to see a play last night, with my buddy Toby Juan Kernobby.

It was about a family- 2 parents and their 4 children ( 2 girls, 2 boys ).
It featured a lot of seminal moments in the lives of them all. Good things happened, bad things happened, and a few very unexpected ( as in non foreseeable ) things happened.

Most of the audience were probably parents, and the play had some extremely good reviews. For the majority of the audience, it was likely that many of the featured chapters in the story struck a chord. Who ever said that being a parent was uneventful ?

For me though, what was overwhelmingly impactful was just how much I’ve missed in the 11 years since my life went tits up, and reference my family, just how much my ( deliberate but very unnecessary ) exclusion has cost me. I’ve not been able to be a dad, because it’s been made impossible to be. When all channels have been forced closed, it’s just not possible.
I’ve hardly been privy to any secondary school really, virtually no university life, no birthdays, no Christmases, no graduations, no driving lessons, no social circles or relationships, no dinners in or out, no advice/ thoughts asked for, no being a shoulder to cry on… no nothing really.

I was history from the day my girls were taken away from me in May 2017. You don’t get a second chance to see your children grow up, it only happens the one time.

I don’t see it changing either, going forward, whatever well meaning people may say.

Something did happen at the end of the play that would change things for me, if it were to happen in real life to my ‘ family’.
I’ll just hang onto that glimmer of hope.
It was a bad thing in the narrative of the play, but it would be great if it happened in the narrative of me.

And also.. I seem to have another health problem. Back in 2016 I spent a week in hospital because for some reason my left testicle ( of all things ) got damaged ( god knows how ). Well now something else is going on there. I can feel absolutely zilch below my rib cage ( ish ) except for having a left testicle that is painful to the touch.
Well now it’s a lot worse and my once fine left bollock seems to be disintegrating.
I imagine if I had normal sensation, it would be excruciating. Maybe it’s very contributory to my spasms. Who knows ?

Anyway, next week I’m having it looked at. The standard procedure is to remove a dodgy one.
That’ll be me soon, I reckon. One ball down. People have a prosthetic one to keep up appearances. Somehow I don’t think I’ll bother with that. Of course it could be something far worse. Like I said, it’s extremely painful ( and I’m not supposed to feel a bloody thing ).

Hitler only had one ball.
Goebbels had no balls at all.
Neither had prosthetics. Well not according to the song, but maybe that’s because not much rhymes with ‘ prosthetic testicle ‘.