My unbrother (yes, the same one that just learned the word geisha) is having a spot of trouble at work. Some property of another employee went missing on his shift (he's a manager). It was something that wasn't meant to be there and there was all sorts of dodgy shit going on, mostly not his fault. The detail he's got caught on is a lapse in security, but one that every manager is guilty of, since before he started there. Nevertheless, he and only he has been suspended and has a written warning on his records (for a period of time, then it expires and is removed).

Various complications mean the company is trying to make out that company property was stolen, which is wrong; it was signed out, which meant it was private property, not the company's responsibility and not supposed to be there at all. There's all sorts of other dodgy stuff going on, about which I won't give details, but the whole thing stinks like week-old dunny skids. Sorta looks as though they (thief and/or employer!) are trying to pin it on him as a handy dupe.

Mum (mine, not his) helped him write a very good letter to the higher-ups. Don't know yet how it'll turn out. They have him bang to rights on the bad security practice, but on that point only. And on that point they should treat everyone equally. It was presumably pure chance that he, and not someone else, was on when the item went missing.

A family friend/former au pair from Germany is here for the weekend. The friend and mum, chauffeured by Slen, have been out visiting gardens, because there's a garden show/event going on in the area, and they're all off to see Harry Potter at some point. (Me not included because I've already seen it. Man, was Lovegood good or what? But it was a complete cipher to someone who hasn't read the books. ...Which I must do again before next Friday night.)

Interesting remark by the friend about my book Mews. My mother's had health problems recently, serious ones—hospitalisation type serious—and naturally the friend called her to ask how she was after the operation. According to the friend it was "Yeah yeah I'm fine but guess what Herman's done, wow!!" Really proud of me.

And that's completely not the impression I'd got. My mother helped by providing a picture and proofreading the book, but hadn't really talked much about it since. Hell, the last actual conversation I had with her she was saying—well, not very nice things, and certainly no impression she thought I'd ever done anything worthwhile.

Speaking of supportive parents, my father has shown no interest whatsoever in the book. Slen said he even dropped some none-too-subtle hints to my dad that I might appreciate him at least saying well done, if he's not interested in actually reading it. (And, look, I've got plenty of lending copies right here.) But that approach has never worked yet. The man treats me with utter contempt, making it plain that even speaking to me is an unbearable hardship except during those times when he wants an offspring to parade at family gatherings. I'm not good enough for him, because I'm not him. (Whereas to other people—especially if you ask mum—I'm a good deal more like him than is appealing. You know, teenage angst is not something I thought I'd be catching at 25 years of age.)

Well, fine, buddy, but you don't get it both ways. I hope he hasn't boasted to his side of the family about the book and caught some reflected glory. That'd be most unfair. Like showing me off after I'd lost all that weight. Hello, folks, he had nothing to do with it! Me! Here! Right here! You know, the dark sheep firstborn son! Hi! Yeah.

A second cousin is coming round briefly tomorrow, and I will lend a copy to her for her mother, who has shown interest. She's a nice woman.