‘When your little boy is given a fast-food voucher by football players visiting his school, you’ve got talkback radio programmes you can ring,’ Adelaide said then sniffed. She twisted the ring on her finger around and around again.
‘But when you take your children to perform a song at a cultural event and the manufacturers of the sticky black drink thrust a can of sticky black drink in their hands after the children come off the stage…’ Adelaide took a breath, sniffed, cleared her throat, then spoke. ‘There’s nowhere you can go.’
The mothers, fathers, grandmothers and carers Adelaide was addressing nodded their heads.
The children thrust their cans at their mothers, fathers, grandmothers and carers and said can you open this then took their first sips of the sticky black drink as their mothers, fathers, grandmothers and carers looked on.
‘Life,’ Adelaide said, ‘is a decaying slope.’
My sypathies. We’ve somehow managed to demonise it in the child’s mind so that he won’t go near the stuff – sees it as synonymous with smoking. (He’ll probably rebel and spend his teens guzzling it by the litre.)