Day One: The wife drops off a computer then rushes out. Next her husband is on the phone demanding both diagnosis and priority repair.

Day Two: They make several phone calls throughout the day becoming angrier, more threatening, and more abusive with each call. Their lives are at a standstill.

Day Three: Their voices on the phone are now almost incoherent, a mix of rage and swearing.

Day Four: I phone advising job now complete, and cost, only to hear, “I’m too busy. I’ll pick it up next week.”

Disembarking the flight home, I am thinking of freshly made meals and welcome home sex, not necessarily in that order.

I open the front door to enter a silent, empty house; furniture, fixtures and fittings gone.

On the kitchen bench the business card of a lawyer, specializing in Family Law.

“I’ve never tried a takeaway telephone. Grandkids showed me how to use it with finger sliding, pointing, tapping.

“They showed me all sorts of things inside it which were very surprising.

They log the remains of a habitual thief, the main suspect in a spate of “Human Fly” style burglaries.

Whilst finding the injuries which caused his death consistent with falling from a considerable height, the Coroner will observe some fingernails on both hands have been impacted and crushed.

I am sitting on the balcony of my fourteenth floor apartment, enjoying an early morning breakfast, and panoramic ocean view.

This is so important, to say nothing of the many months of work involved; I have to fly there now!

The second I get off the phone from the airline, I phone a good Californian hotel to be sure of a reservation.

Of course the Reservation Clerk wants both my credit card details and residential address. Patiently I spell Brisbane for her and then Australia.

“Aren’t you glad I don’t live in Tallygaroopna or Coonabarabran,” I conclude with a flourish.

We are in the middle of downsizing him for his final move to a retirement facility. This is a painful exercise on many levels.

“Which one?” he replies.

“There’s only one…by Iron Butterfly. How do you pronounce the title?”

“In-a-ga-da-da-vida.”

“Is it English?”

“It’s a piece of seminal rock and roll.”

“Yeh? What does seminal mean?”

“You were conceived to it.”

“No.”

I didn’t know what to make of it. I mean, it’s not like I’m a poor scholar or dumb. It’s just that regular school complained I am a disruptive influence with an attitude problem.

All the school administrators care about are their own rules.

At the end of day one, Dad walked through the door and asked how it had gone down.

“It would have gone a lot better if the teacher wasn’t such a bitch,” was my candid reply.

An unusual, annoying sound distracts me from the terrific in-flight entertainment system.

What is that sound? Where the hell is it coming from?

Running water? Yes, it’s the sound of running water. No one seems alarmed…yet.

Now water is cascading from the ceiling of this A380.

Water begins to pool in the carpet. The water rises, continues to rise. Frighteningly, water now laps at my sneakers. I can feel my socks becoming damp.