Right around now four years ago the old man had finished his last beer and was getting in the passenger seat. Don’t drink and drive folks, it fucking hurts.

The local cop begins his inevitable task. He’s known us both since the 90s, when we drove tow trucks and worked alongside him in scenes exactly like this.

The driver - Dad’s best friend - survived, and is starting to realise what’s happened. Hope you’re okay man.

Soon my phone will be buzzing, not enough to rouse me, and my sister will be frantically trying to get the number of my new girlfriend.

At this stage, no fewer than seven people are hurting and I’m not even awake yet.

I’m passed a phone, already well aware this can’t bode well. In retrospect, the cops had clearly advised her well about how to break it. It was textbook stuff.

Half a pint of whisky is downed, buildings are kicked and ‘FUCK’ echoes though Sunnyvale, West AKL

And we’re in the car. Considering the circumstances, I’m allowed to smoke. Somehow, the radio knew a song Dad and I enjoyed.

countin’ flowers on the wall, that don’t bother me at all. Playing solitaire til dawn, with a deck of fifty-one

We’ll pick up my Mum on the way. Divorced 30 years, kept the name, she’s wrecked.

I sit with her in the back seat, already with a sense of what a roll of the dice it is getting in one of these wheeled creatures. Sorry Mum, but we’re smoking in here tonight.

We make Dad’s home in Warkworth, already well attended by the rellies who live around here. Few words are spoken. Two confused dogs pace incessantly.

I lock my twitter account and talk to my siblings about the lack of benefit of talking to media. A cousin arrives with a boxful from the new McDonalds which would become a depressingly familiar in the coming weeks.

We’re at a few dozen broken hearts now, 5am

The dawn of course arrives, and with it a list of people I must visit for what the police call a two-alpha. Next, I’ll talk to the sergeant, and his former business partner. There are details, and they are harrowing.

After this I pay a visit to a man (70?) loosely connected to the driver, but doesn’t know me. He hugs me and weeps, something I’ve yet to be afflicted with. By now news has spread, the hearts uncountable.

Planning needs to begin, Mum suggests we ‘google search’ funeral co’s.

“Google. It’s just called a Google, we just Google things”, I snap. My immediate apology seems useless. I’ve hurt her.

I need to wait until 3pm until the Constable starts, there are more dehails I don’t want but unfortunately need. His pace slows as he recognises me, poor bastard.

But this is the only the first 24h of hurt you can cause when you drink and drive. Don’t do it. Don’t put anyone else through this.

Most of my family don’t even talk to each other any more. The ensuing legal shit fucking killed us.

There you go, there’s why @bentorkington ain’t so right in the head the last few years. I wasn’t ready for this, and it really hurt me.

I didn’t get to say goodbye to Dad. Don’t do this to anyone else.