It remains a fact nevertheless that, however bad things get, there’s always a grain of belief – sometimes buried so deep that it would take an unlikely alliance of Speke and Burton to find it, but it’s there – that one day the bad thing will go away and a good thing will replace it. It’s why I find it so disturbing when people die whilst still in the throes of adversity. To me, it means that the natural order has malfunctioned. Heaven has got it wrong. And if you can’t trust heaven to be infallible, what the hell can you trust?
* * *
I sat in a town centre yesterday, eating my King’s luncheon of a £1.10 bag of chips from a chip shop, courtesy of my lottery win. (Actually, they don’t come in bags any more; they’re served in one form of polystyrene container or another these days, but chips from a chip shop will always be a bag of chips to me.)
And while I was quietly so engaged, I watched the people passing by. In particular, I was searching their eyes to see whether I might spot a special pair – one which didn’t echo the hum of Mother Culture. No luck, I’m afraid.