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I met a guy in a wheelchair yesterday. We were at a funeral, and he had driven down from up north to Norfolk on his own, in his specially adapted van. I attempted to give him my place in the refreshments queue, but he would not permit it. He was, he said gently, perfectly capable of looking after himself.
He was right, too. Despite his disability (legs and lower back), he was cheerful and positive. He spoke about the place where he lived, and how more people were coming to worship with the community there. It was a tonic speaking to him.
Obviously I am going to make the point that most people pursue the negative in their conversations. If it’s not the weather (it’s turned cold; winter is here and the nights are drawing in), then it’s road conditions. Or technology. Or the Government. You see? It rolls off the tongue.
In my part of the world, roads are a special problem. Potholes? Yes, of course. But more irritating even than that are the constant road closures, where work takes months to finish, and the result is often worse than the road was to start with. Part of the problem, I believe, is that the council is given money for special projects that really don’t need doing – and they aren’t allowed to use the money for anything else. They certainly don’t want to give it back; so…
I don’t think it’s malice – just incompetence.
I give a friend a lift home after church. The route goes along Angel Road, which you would think would get preferential treatment at Michaelmas. But no: it has been closed for weeks and weeks, together with adjoining roads (you have to guess which), and you find yourself bumping along excessively road-humped residential streets lined on both sides with cars until you reach another street that has been closed.
Some of these streets have 20mph limits. Obviously this is wonderful. Twenty is plenty: coin that phrase and you get an award. Except of course it’s not plenty: in many places it’s not enough, and often where it is plenty, you would be hard put to drive faster even if you wanted to, which you wouldn’t.
Who decides these things? People like the gentleman I drove past the other day, who shook his fist at me and made slow-down signals. At the time I was certainly doing less than 15mph round a tight corner, and he was walking in the road.
Any kind of accident brings demands to lower the speed limit, but in fact slowness itself is dangerous. Dithering motorists are a risk. If people didn’t drive too slowly, overtaking would be hugely reduced. I would like to see 30mph raised to 35mph and 20mph raised to 25mph, where you can drive much more easily without losing concentration. Twenty-five keeps you alive. How about that? A knighthood at least, surely?
All very negative, I hear you say. What would the man in the wheelchair say? Well, surprisingly, he said roughly the same thing. In a very positive way. With a smile on his face.
Latest poem
Wondering about her dreams,
I sit in a stiff wooden chair
and wait for the curtain to come down
She breathes steadily
but without much conviction
her mouth wide open, ready to call
I say her name, but softly:
I want to speak to her but not to wrench her away
from wherever she is
from whatever peace she is finding
I walk up and down while
she lies still, beneath pale green,
eyes closed, blank screen
She does not catch sight
of the flowers I brought or the card:
she waits for the night
I remember her smile,
her laughter,
her Robert Mitchum husband,
the distance between us
Nurses come in with love:
everyone cares, but no-one
can change anything
except her clothes
I have to go,
she has to stay
Those silent dreams:
another day
