Stupid Fucking Things

I say stupid fucking things all the time. They aren’t what I mean, they don’t represent my nature and I’ve no idea how it happens, but I can say some really stupid things. They tend to be worse if I have more warning that I’m going to need to say things, and of course, those are exactly the times you don’t want to say anything fucking stupid.

Last week a close family friend died. She was old and frail, but she died suddenly and it was still a shock. So one day everything’s fine and the next my friend, her son in law, is cleaning out her flat with his grieving wife.

That evening I go round to see her son in law and wife, and on the drive over there I think about what I will say. I consider the greeting card cliche of “I’m thinking of you at this difficult time”, the formal but standard “my condolences” and the relaxed but glib “sorry about what happened” but none of them seem to fit without sounding forced and insincere.

When I get to their house I still have no idea what to say and I consider walking straight through to the kitchen and making them a cup of tea, because I’m English and that’s what we do in a crisis. He opens the door and I give him that smile. You know, the one which is only with the mouth; like a wolf. His wife makes me a cup of tea and I sit down. I look at him and say “Tough day, huh?”

He looks at me, nods into the distance and looks into his tea. I weigh up the merits of a biscuit, a kit kat or the earth swallowing me up.