The last two evenings have been spent playing Cluedo with the niecelets and their parents, and tonight, the grand-parental generation too.

It has been giggly, and concentrated, and attentive, and the most wonderful fun.

We have been playing the Edinburgh version (no, I didn’t know such a thing existed, but it does, and I am very glad this is so), and we have conjured up the most intricate scenarios of murder and mayhem in Edinburgh’s famous spaces.

There is a bit of me that wonders about the place of such a game in a world of Boko Haram massacres and Paris gunfights. And I guess I have to wonder at such, and ask about how to live in the reality of such horror.

But I would not miss the delight of the niecelets’ – and the rest of our – delight at the playfulness and engrossment in the game.

Both the horror and the delight are true, and one does not negate the other. Holding on to that is necessary to live.

So, I will go to bed tonight, rejoicing in the delight, praying for the grieving, longing to live peace – and reeling from having been defeated twice by the same intuitive niecelet, who wisely tells me “don’t overthink it!”


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