Just like PC Plod!

‘Motorcycle man!’ Tom declared, staring at the object of his suspicions.

‘Racing car man?’ he further enquired, uncertain now as the Motorcycle Man had not responded as expected.

The target of this curiosity continued to stare straight ahead, impassive behind sunglasses. Tom’s assessment was not far off and my slightly hushed assurance that he was probably right didn’t quell his curiosity. He needed to hear it from the horse’s mouth.

He decided to press and the burly, potentially toddler-eating Hell’s Angel continued to ignore him. Quite sensibly, given that the said gentleman was on a Derby-Nottingham train rather than a Harley, a review of the evidence was required.

‘Motorcycle man!’

‘Sunglasses on, motorcycle jacket’

‘Man’s got long hair. Man’s got a beard! Man’s got a nose!’

It was the last one that broke the alleged biker’s stony resistance. His ‘chick’ started giggling at ‘long hair’ – he held out until his (pierced) nose was listed and a smirk broke briefly across his face before ‘cool’ was restored. Satisfied, Tom turned his attention elsewhere.

‘Just like PC Plod!’ he shouted down the corridor at a group of police officers and, after correctly identifying one as a police woman, began to berate one of them.

‘Policeman put your helmet on!’

I glanced over at the biker; he seemed relieved that he’d got off so lightly. The young policeman was busy trying to explain to my toddler son (who has a thing for appropriate attire) that he couldn’t get through the train door with his helmet on. This didn’t wash; he wisely gave in and donned his helmet.

God grant me the serenity...

The anniversary of Tom’s meningitis is approaching and hilariously ordinary days like these keep happening. Unfortunately, what also keeps happening are the recurring memories and the late evening conversations where positive comparisons of then and now (then being PICU and the immediate aftermath) give way to fears for the future and a nagging inability to put the good advice into practise by having that serenity to accept the things we cannot change. We’ve got the next bit sorted; nothing is more important to us than, courageously or not, changing the things we can -Tom’s progress is testament to that. Sadly for us, though we also know the difference it doesn’t always help.

It was never going to be an easy month, this one.