Tuesday, 12 May 2020

Day Seventeen

I don’t know about you, but I could really do with a pint. 

My phone served up a random memory from my photo feed today - the lovely sight of my girl manning the pumps behind the Rovers Return. Although I would have preferred it if it had actually served up a pint, instead of a pic. When is technology going to match my expectations? Yes, we’ve got the internet, but why can’t I materialise a Mojito in my hand? Is it too much to ask? And while I’m at it, where the hell are our jetpacks? I blame Elon Musk. I don’t know why; maybe it’s because he looks like a waxwork dummy of Rick Astley that’s been left next to a hot radiator since 1987, but I blame Elon Musk.

My hostelry-yearning has been sparked by lockdown life and my daughter plaguing me about going to the pub. 

“When will the pubs  open Mum? When can we go?”

If social services overheard the number of times she’s asked this in the past few days, I’d be put on both a reckless mother list and a 12 Step programme. 

Perseveration, it’s called. People with Prader-Willi Syndrome often perseverate. It’s when an idea, a word, a phrase, or a question gets stuck in their mind, and recurs, even when the stimulus is no longer there. My girl just can’t shift gears sometimes, and repeats and repeats and repeats herself. Answering the question doesn’t help, even if you’ve got a nice black or white response. She’ll still repeat her query, over and over - and when the answer is ‘I don’t know’, then we’re in for Perseveration, The Director’s Cut.

“So when will the pubs open, Mum? When can we go?”

I probably should explain: her desire is actually for a specific family tradition - various members heading to the pub on a Saturday morning to have a coffee with Grandad. My uncle and aunt are regulars. Different combinations of nieces and nephews of mine intermittently attend. And my daughter is a stalwart of the pub troop. The coffee is often followed by a Guinness for Grandad and half a cider for my girl, possibly not unconnected with the fact that the Saturday Club has also been witness to some extremely ‘interesting’ pronouncements, declared by my daughter at high volume in no filter mode (telling her cousin she needed to visit a sperm bank, being one of the most memorable).

“So when will the pubs open, Mum? When can we go?”

I don’t know, sweetheart. 

The pub club is on hold, like so many things are at the moment. thanks to the insidious Covidious coronavirus. 

Like Covid-19 her perseveration is catching. She keeps reminding me of what I’m really missing: the warmth, the company, the hugs, the laughs, and the simple loving heart of these visits.



Song is Amos Milburn - One Scotch, One Bourbon, One Beer

As part of the 2.6 Challenge (which is asking people to fundraise and donate towards small charities that are threatened with closure because of the effects of the Covid-19 crisis) I'm currently writing 26 blogs in 26 days.The PWSA UK is a charity which is absolutely vital for people with PWS, their families, carers and professionals who work with them. Without urgent help, PWSA UK will fold. This charity saves lives and for some people makes lives worth living. If you can, please go to my Just Giving page and donate anything you can spare - a few pence or a few pounds, it all counts. And while you're at it, write to Elon Musk, would you, and get him to knock the space travel on the head and invent a beer materialiser, please. 

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