im sitting in the middle of a empty row of seats on an ancient united airlines dreamliner  787, an american woman leans into me and asks if i am going to share the arm rest, and then complains that i have my arm on her arm rest to the hostess. within moments a team of people ask me to move to the other seat, despite i am sitting in the correct seat. i move over which leaves the middle seat free. the american passenger sits down and places her bags into the middle seat and then throughout the whole flight fills the space with her left over food trays, bottles, wrappers and various magazines. i offer her a chocolate bar that comes with the dinner, a peace offering, she grabs it without any acknowledgement. 
i can't sleep, despite being awake at 4am and training it to the airport. i watch the new speilberg movie, based upon his family life before he was famous, it's actually very good and reminds me of my own family, jewish neurotic mother, compassionate gentle father, conflicts and weird education, all the while the young speilberg is only obsessed with one passion, film making. the end where he meets director john ford is brilliant, played by david lynch who gives speilberg some sound advice that he acknowledges propelled him into his future.
we land in los angeles, thankfully my visa was possessed in a frenzied rush just before i boarded, i had no idea you need a visa for a transit stop. the airport is very boring and i wander around looking for something reasonably healthy to eat and finding only the worst and most expensive coffee on earth. i have to give up on the food as it's all rubbish.
we land in london at 6am and i make my way on public transport to my parents home. it's freezing, wet and the train is packed. i'm, exhausted. i am surprised to find mum alone, she's crying and gives me a huge hug, 'i miss him.' she says.
i'm also surprised that the funeral is actually today, my brother informs me that if you die at home it becomes complicated and there's a lot of processes the government make you do. 
so now i have to give a speech, and i've only a short tome to think of what i am to say. i don't go to funerals, and now i have to attend my fathers. in the next hour i am standing in the rain greeting a load of strangers, there are a lot of family in attendance but the majority of people are my brothers friends. 
inside i'm surprised to see a coffin, it's disturbing, my dads body is sealed up inside. i stand next to it and place my hand on the surface. i don't know why.
the service is quick, my brother gives a speech that traces the trajectory of my dads life, how he lived in a bombed out building in east london with a pet rat as a kid, how he met my mum, how he worked hard and became an engineer.
my speech describes my relationship with him, its very personal and i feel awkward sharing this stuff with a bunch of middle class jewish people who probably think i am some sort of freak. they all look so serious and i know my words will be a sacrilege to all their expectations of a funeral speech. however this is my truth and he was my father and i want to be honest and strangely i think about what steve kilbey would do in any situation, he would tell the truth and hide nothing. so i do. to my amazement every one listens, laughs and is fascinated. and later after the whole thing we all put dad in the ground they all come and shake my hand, 'that was a great speech, really from the heart and people seem to be fascinated by the contents. 
i go all humble, 'i am tired, just rambled a few thoughts and memories, not sure if i was coherent, ah kinda just went with the flow,'  i mutter. 
then it's back to mums place for some food and stuff, it's light and joyous, people telling stories and i push through the exhaustion, everyone is drinking whiskey but i find tequila so i down a few shots. around 11pm i crawl into bed, and sleep a deep restful sleep finding peace.

it's a tradition there is one week of mourning now, and the house is packed with people cleaning, cooking, feeding and drinking toasts to my dad, there's a very strange practice that mum, martin and i are just attended to, we are not allowed to even make a cup of tea, the people just look after our every need. this is hard for me being an independent soul.   

the following day my dads best friend and brother from a different mother terry comes over and makes a heartfelt speech. for the first time i feel a tear, it was a great speech, recognizing a few things i had mentioned and i sat with terry listening to his stories. one interesting one was how he worked with decca records and the studios, he told me how he watched this young long haired man playing guitar in one, he used to sit of the floor and write and practice. this was a very young david bowie i was shocked to discover. terry said he has the original acetate of, 'love me till tuesday.'

i guess my days are tied up here for a while and then when it's all over i can focus on working out a plan with mum, she needs to sell this place and start anew and i suggest she get on a cruise ship and have a long adventure, even coming to sydney for a while but i get the feeling she will just want to hang out in london with her grandson. 

so far i have not been out of the house, london looks like it's in its death throes, and the media just broadcasts propaganda about russia, the civilians here are so brainwashed it's pointless even speaking to them, although they are beginning to wake up to the covid scam. at some point in time i will make my way to charring cross and stop into my fave bookshops.