There's a way of undestanding real events which comes in to sharp focus when something happens to one of your kids. All along the timeline are a miriad of crossroads, and road forks. And down all the ones that aren't gone down are a mutiplicity of "What ifs".
The story of James falling in to a foot of water, being very shocked, crying, sodden, having to be stripped and wrapped in a nice warm cardigan to get home... you know. These things happen.
He fell in to the Avon river. About 50 yards further on, the river became very choppy and deeper and might well have pulled him away, close to him on either side of where he splashed in, hard, broken up concrete sticking out of the river. If he'd fallen in the dark, dank canal in between the boats and the side... if if if if.
Well. the point is I try very hard not to look too closely behind me at the routes not taken, whether they might have invited good or terrible outcomes. There's no real point in dwelling. He had a daft accident, he wasn't hurt.
PHEW. ARGH!
