The Escape

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The call for the police was frantic. Post-stroke and with diminished eye-sight our father had ‘disappeared’. It was s time amid the trauma of a bomb of hurt and a recovery when he could feel all at sea.

Haunts, friends and allies were phoned, asked and probed.

**

The first sight of him. He was in range of the safe haven of the sheltered housing. The claw came into view.

The three-pronged end of his walking stick. A thrawn beast, this walking stick with a queer end; to be put up with by someone who had been a Pipe Major on two continents.

Of course. A return. He had been calling in at the ‘YES’ shop on Kirkcaldy High Street.

This was them dropping him off. Home and safe.

**

Today I thought of that. I was still (somehow) shocked at a Sir, a Scottish Sir sell his soul: the suspension of two very senior MPs today from their parties.

A new system is built from the bottom up.

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