Day number,,,who cares

I don’t now how many days it’s been now. I stopped counting after day five. Not because I’ve stopped caring, but that’s all I can count up to.

I used to try and remember my numbers. What I mean is; what order they come in. I know lots of numbers, I don’t know how many of course, but found it dicficult remembering what one comes after the next. Now I can’t care less really.

It’s a relief to know where he is at least. And that’s why he’s not phoned. Even if he had a phone I expect it would have been consifcated and sold to buy whiskey for the police.

I don’t know sometimes who is worse; the bad men or the police. Dad said that the only difference is; the police don’t have tattoos. He said it’s the same in England. “The police there don’t take money to buy whiskey. They take money and give it to Heir Hitler.” Heir Hitler, if you remember, is what he calls the government. “Then Heir Hitler uses the money to buy more police stuff, so’s they can get even more money. I’d shoot the bloody lot of them if I was in charge.” It’s a good thing he’s not.

One good thing is that I can go on dad’s ‘puter without him shouting at me. It’s good that I can go on his ‘puter, but I do miss him shouting at me. Somehow it’s not the same. “Oy! You little bugger, get off my ‘puter,” he’d say. “Good Girl,” I’d reply. He’d laugh. Sorry, but I think I’ll go now.