Good Friday

I spoke to Bink yesterday.

Rose rang her.

(I wish I could do that: just ring and speak to her when I want to.)

As always, what a tonic to speak to her it was!

One thing worse than your daughter telling you her troubles? Not telling you.

How she wants to come home! And how she can’t…

Too minging. Too depressed. Too completely and utterly incapacitated and incapable of doing anything.

After an hour, she said, I have achieved something today.

I have wanted something.

(Shaun, I said. Which theologian said something, like, Lord help me want...

Augustine. Lord make me chaste but not...

No not that one.

No idea. Anselm probably. Ask Ben.

Ben, what did Anselm say about Lord make me want something or other...

No idea.

Do what Bink did, Shaun said. That’s how she got her degree.

In the well-loved words of St Decanius the Less, Lord help me want to want what you want.)