Serendipity

Has it ever happen to you to be completely unaware of a situation or a fact and, all of sudden, become aware of it twice or several times in a very short frame of time in very different manners?

It has to me. Years ago, I used to collect these kind of situations as they happened and I was surprised at the variety and frequency of their occurrence. I've terminally misplaced the list so I cannot check it out again and so I am afraid I can't update any feeling about it. It used to be my serendipity list. Now, I know that the word "serendipity" does not reflect what I meant and it was used incorrectly.

To give an example of what I mean I can tell you this story. Until now, I did not know that across from one of the buildings of UCL in Bloomsbury, you can find the University of London's Institute of Education. I was coming along with some friends few days ago, almost scouring the area in search for a place to have a drink. Indeed, the evening was sunny and wanted a taste of late bright, orange light. You know how crowded this town can get as this is a very popular activity; however, finally, we ended up in a a wooden table with two benches at the yard of the Institute of Education.

Today, The Times brings in front page the death of 15 year-old, Issy Clara Reilly, during a party with friends, in the house of the daddy of one of them, Brian Dodgeon, 60, employed at the Institute of Education since 1998. The allegations of Dodgeon's arrest are "possession of drugs and child abandonment", according to Scotland Yard. Apparently, the man had weed, LSD, ketamine and ecstasy in a room of his house in North Kensington; at some point in the night (the ambulance arrived at 4 am, so it was not a coke-popcorn type of meeting), the boys felt certain urgency of trying some of the things daddy has, and at the end of the day -though it is said to be still a mysterious case-, one girl was dead.

Well, the story tempts out many juicy bites for further exploration, but I am not make say much about it today. It is a cocktail of a Bristol graduate with a brilliant CV living in a majestic area of London, former social worker and some sort of adviser for the National Council for One Parent Family and, now, a fellow researcher in Education, including tasks on the National Child Development Study and a bunch of naughty kids, likely from rich families, ransacking for drugs at high hours into the night, apparently alone in a four-bedroom house. Far away from being an odd combination of absurdities, unfortunately we should be used to the deadly combination of high-education and obscene money, if we just are for it. Traffic, the movie, comes to my mind: the High Commissioner against the terrible Drug State of Affairs in the US-Mexican border gets himself the fight at home with a teenager daughter addicted to crack.

My list contained about 30 episodes of stories previously-ignored that later burst out into the scene of my conscienceless, like this learning of the Institute of Education.

(By the way, I've just seen a photograph of Michael Douglas taking his daughter Carys to a basketball game or something in Hello! His pants fit too long, the colors of shirt and jersey don't get along well, and I say, why? Do the handsome characters leave such a meagre, crumbling impression in an actor?... Perhaps, the battle for survival is ferocious at this moment).

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