Recursive Words

After laying in bed listening to REM this morning, and debating about “Night Swimming” being their best song, I scraped myself out of bed, had a shower, got dressed, and quietly exited stage left to wander towards Wetherspoons for breakfast and coffee.

I just made a “Small American” disappear, and may have to re-fill my coffee in a few minutes. Across the way a middle-aged man is filling out the cross-word in the Wetherspoons magazine. An elderly couple are tucking into a fry-up. A young mum with two pre-teen children is sitting just along from me – no doubt feeding them to shut them up. They’ve both put their phones down to eat – amazing.

I wonder how many pub chains miss a trick by not offering breakfast and coffee? Of course it helps that Wetherspoons is by far the best value pub in town – making it a no-brainer if you want something to eat, but don’t want it to turn into a ridiculous performance, cost as much as the weekly food shop, or take an hour while waiting for serving staff.

So.

Elephants in rooms, and all of that (for those that have been reading in recent weeks).

This week was all about statements with the police, pulling together, and a remarkably quiet household. It has also been about poor decisions by others, and the prospect of pulling our parent hats back on for the next twenty years.

I’ll tell the whole story one day.

Some friends asked recently if we might join them for a drink last night – and I admitted that we can’t really plan more than half an hour ahead at the moment. The chaos is slowing, but it’s been relentless.

While walking here this morning, I wondered where the urge to fix others comes from. Is it something we are brought up with, or is it an instinct? Does everybody have it? It’s probably tied up with selflessness. While some forge ahead, doing whatever they’ve dreamed up next, some of us pick up behind them – standing those back up that haven’t done so well, trying to fix them as best we can.

Some people seem to be their own worst enemy – despite best efforts they continually find theirselves slipping to the bottom of snakes, rather than climbing ladders. It’s hard.

I remember when the children were small I would play Snakes and Ladders with them, and express both excitement and sadness as each of us either made progress or crashed back. I never anticipated that a simple board game was preparing me for decades to come.