30 March 20 | Daily challenge

Writing challenge

Warn somebody in the past about something that will really happen.

Do it in your own voice or in the voice of somebody else.

Example

Boris. Congratulations, you are prime minister. It’s a big thing, and you deserve to enjoy the moment. But I want to let you know that Brexit is not going to be your biggest concern in 2020. In fact, you will give it very little thought. More important than Brexit will be the pandemic of coronavirus. This is a deadly virus rather like flu. It will start in China – may even have started already – and spread rapidly around the world. I would never have thought that this was the kind of thing you could deal with, but that’s a reflection on me, not you. Because actually you will handle it quite well. You will very sensibly fortify yourself with experts. And you will find yourself fighting a war that justifies your inner Churchill. I don’t mean that to sound bitter. I mean that you will do well. Not perfectly – who could do that? – but a lot better than I would ever have expected. And better than I would have done. I wish you well, Boris. Yours, Theresa

Something like that. Or much better please!

2 thoughts on “30 March 20 | Daily challenge

  1. Dear Mum,

    Every now and then, as you watched your late husband’s long, so very long, descent into the tangled weeds of Alzheimer’s disease, you raged with frustration and dismay that he was no longer the smart, lively man you married. Then, after leaving the shelter of your counselor’s office, you pulled yourself together: you sadly acknowledged it wasn’t his fault. You wondered aloud to me, to Ann, to our oldest friends, how long you could stand watching him decline. And how long you could manage to provide care at home. Between us, we managed to keep him safe and comfortable at home until his very last weeks. Even then, we found a wonderful home where he was cared for ‘like family’, and his passing was peaceful. But you told me, vehemently, that if you were ever in his position, you would not want to live.

    You couldn’t have known then that two – or was it three? – strokes would rob you of your ability to walk, to knit, to shake up a cocktail, and – worse – to do the New York Times crossword puzzle. For different reasons, your brain cells have also turned against you. But I want to reassure you, as I did Dad, there is a silver lining. The memories you retain allow you to travel to your heart’s content on your beloved railways, visiting London as easily as New York or San Francisco. And just the other day, you and I took a lovely trip to the ballet and the Russian Tea Room – you in your mind, I in my memories.

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