Monday September 11, 2006
I’m vacillating here. Been trying for ages to decide whether to tackle the question of how I feel about the fifth anniversary of the fall of the Twin Towers or simply to fall back on finding something to say about my day here in the little Somerset town house.
To my shame I find that I still have rage and anger in me when I turn my thoughts to 9/11.
For the act itself, an example of the low, animal criminality that infests our world.
For the way it stopped us all in our tracks, interrupted our lives and thoughts and, particularly, the way it silenced some good poets for a long, long time. Some of them are silent still.
And, finally, for the way our politicians have failed us so dismally.
I don’t blame them for their errors; they are only human, after all, and we all make mistakes. You can’t reasonably condemn human error when you’re raging against a monstrous act of inhumanity, can you?
I’m reasonably tolerant of their lies, too; sometimes large responsibilities raise a need to be economical with the truth. I do condemn them when they fail to own up to their falsehoods when caught in the act, though. The days when gentlemen owned up to cutting down a beautiful tree with their ugly little axes seem to have gone.
What I find intolerable and hard to forgive now, at five years remove from the atrocity, is that our leaders don’t seem to see that we need, all of us, to pause, examine what we’ve done in response, and the way that our lives have been changed, and act accordingly. Making mistakes is human, and forgivable. Failing to take the time to recognize them and to correct them is not.
As to our day, it was a good one. I motored over to St Audries in the small hours to pick Graham up and return over dark, shadow-filled roads to arrive at the house at about one fortyfive. Dolly the Mega-cat was mightily puzzled.
“Yes, luv,” I said as she moved from greeting Graham to greeting me, and back again, “I’m feeling a bit confused, too.”
A good night’s sleep put us all to rights, and we spend the day lazing about the house, not doing anything heavy, just enjoying a little quiet time together.
All too soon the clock turned round to the time when he had to be back at work so we jumped into the car once more and got him there in good order so that he could enjoy a cup of tea and change ready for his evening stint.
It was strange, perhaps even a little upsetting to leave him there and return to the house and to an even more puzzled Dolly. Might have been that which led me to indulge in three glasses of a rather average French plonk before my dinner.
That was a mistake. I am however gentleman enough to admit it. I may even take corrective action to avoid a repetition before my nerve endings have had time to recover. On the other hand I might just emulate our politicians and make the same mistake all over again the day after tomorrow.
Dolly in the caravan