I picked up Melissa Nathan’s book, The Learning Curve, to read last night, and as I was leafing through the first few info pages, I came across this heart-breaking dedication:

I am in the unusual position of knowing that this book will in all probability, be published posthumously. And so, please indulge me in a rather unusual set of acknowledgements.
First, to my wonderful parents. You have given me a life suffused with love, support, and friendship. I have been lucky enough to see eye to eye with you both and look up to you at the same time. You are two of my best friends. Please never feel that I have had a hard life. I have had thirty seven wonderful years and I’m grateful to you both for giving me that. I am happy and at peace.

To Jeremy. It turned out that our dynamic was to be that of doctor and patient. I never would have chosen it to be that way, but there it was. You were always there for me, from the first phone call I made when I was nineteen, telling you I’d found a lump, right through to – and beyond – the night you stayed in hospital with me, sleeping on an inflatable lilo on the floor when I had my first mastectomy, some seventeen years later.

You have been everything a brother could have been and more. Thank you.

My Wonderful Andrew. I respect you as much as I love you, and that is saying something. You of all people I know, will get through this. After all you’ve got through nearly twelve years of marriage with me, and that’s no easy feat.

I have been so lucky to know you. You have been my steady rock, my gentle giant, my best friend, my everything. I wish you a happy life full of love and joy.

And my amazing Sammy. I wanted to know you for longer, my love, but it wasn’t to be. Still, at only three years old, you have already left an imprint on my heart, that will go with me, wherever it is going. Motherhood made my life worthwhile, and you gave me that.

What does a mother wish for her son? I wish you happiness. You have a wonderful daddy, and a family who adores you. Go into the world knowing that while you were everything to your mother, you wont have to deal with an annoying woman who can’t stop kissing you when you’re fifteen. I will be in the sky, kissing you from afar.

Melissa Nathan died in the April of this year, two months after this book was published

I was just listening to reports on the radio about the latest air-related terror plot that’s just been foiled by the police and other security agencies.

Twenty-one people have been arrested, and they are looking for a further two suspected terrorists. Due to this, the nation is now on critical alert, and most airports have restrictions in place. For the time being people have been banned from carrying hand luggage onto their flights.

Some arsehole at the airport in Belfast was bitching about her hand luggage being searched and confiscated. What. The. Fuck?

Apparently, the twat lady, complained to officials that it was a complete nonsense, and that she couldn’t understand what harm there was, in taking hand luggage on board a plane.

That cretin can be glad that I wasn’t in the queue anywhere near her, when she made those remarks. I’d have torn strips off her.

As far as I’m concerned, when The Tall Guy and I jet off to America next month, I wont give a fuck if they wish to strip search me, search me internally, or anything else they deem necessary. I also don’t give a shit how long they take.

As long as they make sure those religious suicide bomber freaks don’t get on the same plane as me, I’ll be happy.

So to the lady at Belfast Airport, You. Are. A. Fucking. Moron.

‘Nuff said.