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Clearing out one of the cupboards under the sink, I find my father's stash of match books. They're a gazeteer of his comings and goings over the last decade of his life.
He was in Dublin, on North Sea Ferries, meeting his accountant at The Institute of Bankers (motto Probus et Fidelis- which- it explains on the back of the book- "stresses the integrity of character which every banker needs"), dining at a place which advertises itself (with a not quite perfect grasp of English idiom) as a "typical Portuguese restaurant."
"What are you going to do with them all?" my mother asks.
"Start fires," says Ailz.
He was in Dublin, on North Sea Ferries, meeting his accountant at The Institute of Bankers (motto Probus et Fidelis- which- it explains on the back of the book- "stresses the integrity of character which every banker needs"), dining at a place which advertises itself (with a not quite perfect grasp of English idiom) as a "typical Portuguese restaurant."
"What are you going to do with them all?" my mother asks.
"Start fires," says Ailz.
