Unjust blows of life rain down
This has been a wretched month for children attending schools on high ground. Mind you, it's not been a particularly great time for people with homes built on the low lands nor, indeed, for those killed in the Taiwanese air crash. Life is a miracle, an inexplicable boon, but nowhere is it written that we will all get equal shares of fortune and flood.
The most that religion has ever promised is compensation in the afterlife. I do wonder about my children however. Something curious in their upbringing seems to have programmd this generation with the belief that life owes them a fair deal. Sarah has recently learned to sulk and amongst her manifold grievances are the size of her thighs, the straightness of her hair and the fact that her newt died while Ginny's didn't. I would have said these things were unfortunate but she insists "'S'not fair". The difference between us is not simply semantic: misfortunes are things that have to be borne. Unfairnesses cry out for reparation. When I was at school, I had to accept that some people were better at everything than me. Sarah, on the other hand, seems to want an apology. If she were American no doubt she'd be trying to sue God.
Personally, I blame her first headteacher, Rowena Twee, a well-meaning lady who banned competitive sports before moving to York to stand as a local councillor. If Mrs Twee is in charge of flood prevention schemes up there she'll have no doubt been checking to make sure that everyone has had an equal amount of sewage flowing into their homes and every school has been on a three-day week. Barmy, I know, but absolutely fair.