|
Carol I took a photograph of you wearing a tribal hat, you looked strong, like a leader. Do you remember when we met in the hallway at Maggie’s 50th – how we burst out laughing? You because you’d grown so ‘big’ – courtesy of cancer drugs me, because I’d become so ‘small’ – courtesy of ME. ‘Christ,’ you whooped,’ we look like fucking Little and Large!’ Years later I remember stumbling down the pathway that led to your beautiful garden, making an exit after a visit, to the sound of your voice shouting, ‘Think positive, think bloody bollocks!’ And of course you were correct, because we were both fed up of the hippy/dippy New Age analysis of illness, knowing that in our prior lives we could have lit a fire up the arse of the world and that sometimes it’s more appropriate to swear - than to quote Sontag, in an attempt to write yet another reasoned, impeccably referenced critique as to why illness is often arbitrary, how we are not omnipotent, and that once you take genetics, environment and the cynical force of Darwinism out of the equation you’re left with the soul cut adrift and the questionable notion of the existence of God. |