The Holiday – Return of the Natives and a theological argument with a cynical 10 year old

The mad boy, my eldest boy, the lad, invited a squad down tonight to play pool in the basement – and consume copious amounts of lager and fortified wine. Some Russian Standard Vodka too (oh how I love Russian Standard – though it does not love me).


They left at 9pm to go to the clubs and pubs.


Four of the many will return much later to own the sofa bed and spare room. Or so I was informed, as the lad jumped into a taxi.


Baby giant returned from his friends at 10.45pm and is sitting with me as I type – and as Jaws plays out its gory suspense on terrestrial tv, yet again (I want to resurrect Roy Scheider and have a good time).


All this partying and the lad populating the house with his pals… I am reminded of my return from The Holiday… Thing is, this would ideally be the final installment in what I think of as my Holiday series. On the other hand, it seems mean to deny you the denouement, given I’ve been a bit slow with the in-between bits… 


The Holiday – Return of the Natives 


The journey back was unexpectedly quick. On reflection we agreed that this may well be due to the fact that on the way there we a) had literally no idea where the hell that single track road through the moors was taking us and b) had got lost despite the satnav anyway.


It started pissing with rain the minute we crossed the Anglo-Scots Border. We had the  customary small cheer from the kids as we passed that massive, squinty, Border Saltire emblazoned with SCOTLAND and Cead Mile Failte and then the rain came down in sheets. 


Thats God pee-ing on us stated Ana, quite matter-of-factly, Mamie told me.


I held my breath and glanced at R. We could sense Jamie pausing. His acute sense of dramatic timing pushing him to weigh his retort-options quickly. On the one hand he had patronising nonchalance and on the other, he had plain, outright, old scorn – though we knew he also he had a fine repertoire covering all the in-between options.  He discarded nonchalance, this was not a time for nonchalance. He went straight to the main artery and struck.


Dont be so stupid. You are just so stupid. Duhhhhhh. You just know nothing. 


There was a brief silence.


In the rear view I could see Ana begin to wind up to a whine. But Jamie had not finished yet.


God! God!! God doesn’t EXIST!


Yip.  There     it      just about      was   …Yip…    Ana whining…


Muuummmmmm Jamie’s annoying me. He‘s annoying me. He said I’m stupid. I’m not stupid. If I’m stupid then Jamie thinks Mamie’s stupid too. Mum, Mum, Mum, Jamie said Mamie was stupid too.


Jamie played his top trump card. Smugly.


Go on Mum. Tell her then Mum. Tell her that God doesn’t exist. You don’t believe he exists. Do you Mum. 


Jamie and I have been here before. Debating God and world religions and the bible and why I studied Religious Studies at University. He knows the answer to that question. He is being a smart-arse. I decide I am going to be an annoying smart-arse.


Well, Jamie. What if I ask you a question first, before I confirm or deny anything.


He is all ears.


Imagine, Jamie, that you have just landed on Planet Earth. You are walking along a beach and see something at your feet. You bend to pick up what appears to you to be an intricate object. The object is a watch (but you don’t know that because you’ve never been on earth before and never seen a watch). You study it closely. You open the casing and study the mechanics. 


He was hooked. Round-eyed.


Do you think if you found a watch like that that you would believe it just appeared? Or would you think it had been made? Would you think someone or something had MADE it? That they had created it?


I could see him mustering all his powers of cynicism. And feigning nonchalance.


Well. Of course I would know someone had made it.


I hated this argument but felt compelled now to finish it.


Right. Now, just think about the human body, Jamie. Or the animals. Or all the plants and trees. Just think how complicated they are. How complicated your own body is. Your asthma. All those little villi in your lungs. A watch is really simple when you compare it to your body.


Total silence.


So, don’t you think someone MUST have created your body. Someone we could call GOD, Jamie.


It didn’t take him long. He was truly disgusted that he had allowed himself to be taken in in this way. And without weapons with which to beat me. 


That‘s a STUPID argument. You KNOW that God doesn’t exist. I don’t CARE what you say.


(to be continued…cos we have still got 74 miles to go to find out whether we have a habitable home to return to or whether the lad and Baby Giant have managed to trash the place)