If only the exchange rate had of improved.

^^^^, , I take it basic arithmetic isnt one of your strong points.

Mother gave birth at 21.

21+73=94 last time I was at school.

Well write the next bit. The flashback fiction.

....................A rage grew within Trevor, a rage that started from his toes and rose through his body till it caught in his throat, threatening to either choke him or have him spout words he'd always regret. Fourteen years it had been since he had bothered going home to visit his dear mother - fourteen years of sporadic phone calls and broken promises to visit. Even when he'd heard that dear Mum was on her last legs, there was always an excuse to not fly home.

The truth of the matter was that he couldn't afford to fly home, his capital tied up in this monstrous Hooker Heights, and his frozen pension being eaten up by inflation. So ninety-four year old Mum died, and his brother was left the house. And just to rub it in, Brother had flown to Thailand with some worthless trinkets that Mum had left Trevor. The rage danced around his throat, as his face reddened - Dear Mum must have been manipulated, Bastard Brother must have gotten to her. Never mind the fact that Bastard Brother had refused to allow her to be put into a home, and had spent the last two years of his life bed-bathing Dear Mum. Never mind the fact that Trevor had a enough letters delivered to him with Dear Mum's flowery handwriting that he could have papered every wall in this gilded prison.

All she had wanted was to see Trevor one more time. Bastard Brother was sure she held on for so long in the hope that Trevor would appear - but appear, he did not. And a flowery signature wrote Trevor out of her will. Bastard Brother was kind enough not to tell Trevor of the letter, an emotional explanation of why she had decided this road. It was a letter of heartbreak - not spite. And a love letter to Bastard Brother, the boy that listened to her wishes to the end.

Dear Mum died of a Wednesday, her body frail, her mind as sharp as ever. Seventy-three years she had loved that boy and he couldn't be bothered.

He was bothered now. The truth of the matter was that Trevor was always bothered. The nag was always in his head waiting for a quiet moment to spring out and gnaw at his conscience once again. The last thing he had ever wanted was to be trapped in Thailand - it was never his plan, it just snuck up on him through a series of unfortunate circumstances. Trevor had been King of the Hill when he first arrived in the country, two weeks of wild abandon were just the tonic to get him over his divorce. As soon as he had arrived back in the UK he booked his next holiday, and lived for the day he could step on the plane bound for Bangkok.

Real life had it's usual go at bringing him down to earth. There was a little pot left over from the wreckage of his divorce, nowhere near enough to retire on. His kids seemed to think he was made of money - and his little Invoices just added to the drama. Trevor knew every time one of his Grandkids was brought round there was a bill attached. An hour of playing Happy Granddad would be followed by a sob story about the Social being late with a payment, or the tax man looking for a repayment of tax credits. Trevor didn't have grandchildren, he had small human type creatures with invoices attached.

The accident at work had been the best day of his later life. No one could have planned it any better, a rookie forklift driver dropping a pallet on his left leg. The pain was agonizing, three weeks in hospital a bore - and the limp he was left with a daily reminder of that fateful day. Dear Mum had been the first round to the hospital when she heard. There was a woman who knew her way around a bus pass - and knew her way around the hospital even better. Dear Mum delighted in the competitive nature of death - every friend that went before her was a minor victory - such is the nature of life at a certain age. Brother, not yet a Bastard, was second up - and the kids trailed in when it suited them. Trevor got the idea they were faintly disappointed the pallet hadn't landed on his head - his life insurance would come in handy. And of course, the Idiot Eldest was the first to break cover. Never mind his Dad lying there developing a deep love of morphine - pound notes were in his mind.

"You'll get a big claim now, Dad," Idiot Eldest had said. A Big Claim - indeed. Big enough to top up Trevor's medical retirement and see him through to the state pension and beyond, if he managed things right.

He didn't.