Hello,
“Yeah, I’m not saying I want to go back inside, but I don’t really care, Chris. I’ve got f*** all in my life.”
He pauses; he’s just finished a four-year stretch. I think we’re both getting a bit choked up. It had been a long conversation.
It started over lunch. I sparked a discussion about the sweet and sour chicken on our plates, from this year’s recipe book. The conversation meandered, going this way and that, and, inevitably, immigration came up. Someone repeating, almost like a refrain, “If it wasn’t for them people coming over in boats, I’d get housed.”
To move away from these increasingly heated exchanges; especially at lunch gatherings, which can be quite big and not always the place for direct challenge. I often use a distraction technique: How’s Liverpool doing? What are you watching on telly?
But the lunch crowd has dwindled to just the two of us, and now we’re talking about his life… his futile existence, as he calls it.
John is only twenty-four. He tells me he can’t leave his bedsit at night because “going out means trouble”. He smokes weed ’cos, well, just because there’s nothing else.
As we wade deeper into his story, it feels so barren, so bleak. He sees no future.
Ripe ground for extremists!
In desperation, I tell him that, if I could, I’d reach into my head and give him a bit of how I feel.
His face brightens.
“What’s that you’re going to give me, then?”
I realise I haven’t really thought this through.
“Hope”, I blurt out. “I’d give you hope.”
Although, truth be told, there are increasingly times when I’m not sure I’ve much of that to spare.
But I don’t say that. Feeling the emotion rise in my throat, I change the subject.
“Have you seen our new recipe book?” I ask, trying to sound cheerful.
“Nope.”
I manage to find a copy.
He likes the hands waving widely on the front cover, reminds him of a rave. Not quite sure that’s the look we were after, but it’s a start.
He takes a book away.
Baby steps.
I’m really supposed to be writing about the recipe book… to demonstrate what great Christmas presents they make. It is cheerful and hopeful, the ideal Christmas gift.
Chris
6th November 2025