In the aftermath of Manchester

So many thoughts about last night's attack on the Ariana Grande concert at Manchester Arena, mostly outrage at the fact that it was very specifically an attack on women, young women and children, presumably for daring to enjoy themselves.  I may well add to this as things unfold, I mean it's a long time since I blogged anyway.  Mostly I want this to be a placeholder for my friend's words, from this morning on Facebook:

"After the shocking news broke late last night, my thoughts immediately turned to my second son, who is in that neck of the woods. I called him at just past midnight, to find him just waking up for work (he works a night shift).

After I had informed him of unfolding events, and we shared our mutual horror,  he paused and then said 'Ariana Grande? Really, mum? Me?'

It was then I realised my 31 year old, well-built, tattooed, pierced, heavy metal-loving son was possibly not in the immediate demographic for her fans. It made us both briefly and simultaneously laugh; the sweetest and very unexpected sound in a night of growing disbelief and despair.

I guess it proves that at times of deep shock and horror, a mother's love and concern is not only boundless, but defies both logic and common sense as well.  My heart hurts for those who are caught up in this; there are no words that will take their pain away. And so many thanks to the emergency services, security staff and medical staff without whom the grim, dark, and heartbreaking numbers of the dead and injured would be so much higher. We salute and cherish you."

Perfectly said, Rodders.