9 May 2022

67 circles nearly done

Late in the evening of 9th May 1955 a beautiful and voluptuous young woman in Edinburgh realised that the child that had been growing in her belly was getting ready to enter this world. Her second child. The handsome young husband, eight years out of the army and then building a career in the police force, nervously began making arrangements for a birth that would proceed at home, on the 10th. The child was me, already undergoing the breaking of the chemical and physiological bonds that had held me in her belly. It was me, but was it me? Of course it was me. But of course it wasn't me. Nothing now connects me with that emerging infant, other than everything that proceeded from then until now. It is confusing. We change every day, perhaps every moment, yet stay the same, in a way. Late night reflections over beer 67 years later, pondering the journey from birth towards death, the second far closer than the first. A routine and ultimately meaningless tale of madness, badness, happiness, sadness, goodness, mistakes, tragedies, triumphs, sense and nonsense... and so it continues, for a while. And the sun burns, the wind blows, the Earth turns. Drink up, baby, boy, young and old man, and move on... old man.