Size Matters

Courgette-ism

Despite having spent most of the night in A & E, son is in fine fettle at breakfast. Daughter is writing shopping list.

“Courgettes!” I shout.

“Some in fridge already,” mumbles son through a mouthful of toast. 

“You can never have enough courgettes,” says daughter, adding one kilo to the list. 

“What is it with this family and courgettes?” Retorts son and, barely pausing for breath, “Have you read about those snake faith-based communities?”

“Err, no..” I shouldn’t encourage his lateral thinking, but I’m intrigued. 

“They have to hold a poisonous snake to join the community.”

“But they might die.” 

“So, you think we should be a courgette faith-based community?” says daughter, adding crème fraîche and pancetta to shopping list. “What would the initiation task be?”

Stone me!

And, in case you’re wondering – son spent the night in A & E passing kidney stones, so his verbal meanderings could be due to morphine. A & E was eerily quiet, son says; he was taken to a bed immediately. The bloke in the next bed had arrived at A & E because “His eyes had gone fuzzy,” after playing on his computer all day. The NHS nurses treated “fuzzy eyes” with respect and patience.  

Through March, I kept track of the global spread of Coronavirus. But the rate of growth is so depressing that I’ve stopped. I imagine Covid19 as a rapacious monster – a tsunami that devours… people. But daughter assures me it’s not huge. It’s actually a tiny speck, a particle.

“Like the sharp end of a needle?” I ask.

“No Mum, you can’t see it.” And she gives me a figure to the power of ten – or something. I stop listening because I can’t imagine anything that small doing so much harm.