Recycled In Bridgnorth (Not Perfect)...

Dear Juliet

This was going to be an urbane meditation on the impossibility of being perfect while mentioning my old travel mantra, which states:

"You can do the most meticulous planning imaginable; and then the bus, train or plane just doesn't bloody well turn up."

Dwight D. Eisenhower himself said that "plans are worthless, but planning is everything."

And I was going to explain that I turned up in Chicago in 2022, complete with a reservation carved in stone for a roomette on board Amtrak's Empire Builder, looking forward to breezing down to Union Station the following morning in order to glide with effortless ease into my mini-stateroom, boldly to go and see the roof of America unreel magnificently before me.

But they cancelled the train the night before. Just like that. A sudden strike.

I was going, calmly, wisely and perhaps a little pretentiously, to compare this to narcissists' childrens need for control and perfection, and the need to realise that no matter how hard you try to control everything, you'll never be perfect.

Then I started my shift, everything seemed to be under control, and then everything went wrong. It was almost impossible to find the service user's address, and there was nowhere I could park near it. My care app decided to pick that precise moment to crash, a key safe failed for the first time and I nearly burnt out the clutch reversing back up an incline out of a grotesquely tight and impassable car park. It had no doubt been designed by a money-mad developer determined to squeeze more money out of every square inch of a housing development which shouldn't have been shoehorned in there in the first place.

Also, 14th century streets and 21st century cars just don't mix...

So, I'm currently writing this while I sit shaking in front of the Dell. Shortly after I finish (if I live that long), I plan to crawl across the floor to the living room and watch some nonsense on YouTube while I get through a large bar of Dairy Milk. I will then get under the duvet and probably stay there for several weeks.

But I hope this rather violent story does one good thing: that it really explains to you that you don't need to be perfectly in control, that you can't be perfect because life will always get in the way. But you're loved unconditionally anyway.

Whether you're on top of the duvet or under it.

I don't know what that last sentence means. Tonight, I am a disaster area.

I hope this makes you feel better.

Love,

James



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