Time moves on, new generations appear, and the Wheel of Time reveals its true nature: a rack upon which your ageing body bends and is broken. It is imperative, therefore, that you keep one eye always to the future.
Next in Line
Sons and daughters are entered into this cosmic battle unbeknownst to them. Professional careers in accounting, medicine or teaching pressed upon them in response to rumours of the enemy camp attempting likewise; carpentry, plumbing or electrickery taken up at the first indication of the same from those ‘beggars across the stream’. Never will grades be more important than when direct comparison is possible. Never a local teacher’s post more bitterly campaigned over than when it ensures an enduring display of superiority to every child of the parish.
The Last Post
When the battle has been won, when McInerney has breathed his last and you have proclaimed your bittersweet victory from the rooftops, what then remains for you to do? Life suddenly appears without colour, bleak. The pains in your damp bones seem that much more acute, the stiffness so much more evident.
It is not uncommon for elderly men to pass within days of their mortal enemy. While it could be passed off as a victory lap, everyone knows the truth. Dressed up howsoever you like, dying of a broken heart is what it is.
And so the baton is passed on to another generation, and the circle of life enhanced by embittering emnity continues…