What I actually want to do is go on a big holiday, away from everyone I know - everyone I've ever known - and never come back.

My wife hates me. We have not had sex in four years. I have no interest in breaking that streak. It feels like that's what got us into this mess in the first place.

My son either ignores or attacks me. I am blamed for his every unwelcome personality trait, and asked/told to leave the house if ever I get upset. Yes, I sometimes strike him out of sheer frustration, but never hard, and never without significant provocation. The atmosphere in this house is toxic.

I'm dying.

My in-laws are the least pro-active people I've ever met. Dithering, unworldly inertia isn't my thing. They are 71 going on 85. Look at Mike at their age. They're pathetic. Too timid to meet my parents before my Mum died. Too skint to travel down to Barton because of petrol money. To nervous and afraid of other people to sit in a pub and just chill out for a couple of hours. These are not my people. Quite happy to ask for £10,000 for a loan to pay off the remainder of their mortgage a month after I inherited my money, though. And then too spineless to tell me what it was for, and accept £5,000 instead. So, how much was left on the mortgage? We don't know, but I'll bet some of that loan was spent in fucking Morrisons. 

Actually give them real money, though, and before you know it, they're off pissing it up the wall on camper vans they use to visit... other areas in Devon or Cornwall (£20,000) and holiday lets  which promise 12% returns on investment. Sign me up! Here - have my £54,000! I'm in!

What's that? You need to advertise, promote, insure and physically know how to run a BTL? Oh, well in that case we'll leave it for a year, wait until OCTOBER before asking our daughter how much to charge for it, then realise it has a rodent infestation. Then, realising that we've got an entirely predictable £2,000 annual services charge looming, we'll fucking panic, and sell it for approximately £30,000. We're so stupid that Pam will actually cheer audibly at 'being free of the spectre of that bill.' 

How fucking outrageously stupid. And then too stupid to realise that they'd need money after that.

I have no desire to work. To do so makes no sense. I should just relax and look at the flowers. But flowers are boring. Money is useful. So I'll work. Better that than spend whatever time I have left looking after a child I can barely relate to, in a house 200 miles from anyone I love or know well.