My dad .

I was on night duty on Saturday . I got home from work eventually , after a train/bus trip that was reminiscent of Disney's 'Incredible Journey' - visiting places that I've never been before , and have no desire to visit again , just to get the elusive train from Cambridge to home, and fell into bed . 'At last ' I thought 'some decent sleep' .

Two hours later, Ian burst into the room . 'What ? What's happened? ' I mumbled . Waking me from night duty sleep is usually best done from a distance, and using a long stick , you see . Then , I saw his face . Tearful .

'Nik , I'm sorry , I'm so sorry ' he kept saying . My heart stopped, and all I could do was stare at him . ' He's gone. Your dad's gone ' .

For one mad moment , I almost said 'Where? To the shops ?' but then I tried opening my mouth , and found I actually couldn't say anything at all . I was literally speechless . He'd been in hopital with an infection for the last ten days, but had seemed to be getting better . Then , that morning , his breathing had got shallower and shallower, and by the time the hospital rang mum and she'd got there, ( ten minutes ) , he'd simply stopped breathing .

We drove down to Surrey , half an hour later, in silence . Five children in a car , and barely thirty words exchanged in a three and a half hour trip .

I think I'm still in shock . He was supposed to be getting better and now this . Sixty one is no age at all these days is it?.