What a difference a day makes.
The countdown to the South of France has gone awry. The ‘third time lucky’ mantra has imploded. Other priorities have asserted themselves.
We were assailed this morning by a 7.45 phone call advising of the death of a much loved nephew of my Guiding Light. Heart attack. Aged 41. Leaving a devastated partner and two bereft boys. Along with crushed, despairing, desolate parents, siblings and assorted other relatives. Including a God-parent – my Guiding Light. Other details unknown – the messenger was inconsolable, defeated by the effort of making sense out of chaos. Bewildered by the incongruity of the message he was conveying. A parent should not be reporting this about his son. (The cliches come readily, the reality paralyses.)
So we are heading across the Atlantic rather than towards the Mediterranean. Same dates. Different destinations. Different agendas. No holiday.
Nothing in life is assured. Countdowns court disaster.