Normal
I’ve just been to a place called Brassac in the Tarn region of France. We had an exceptional lunch with friends in a delightful restaurant by the river. The restaurant was ‘complet’ as always; regulars, visitors, families, very old and very young. On the table by the window there were 14 people all ordering the set menu. At first they seemed to be a mixed group of friends. From my seat I watched an animated young woman chatting brightly to the person across from her, a person whose back was towards me. To my surprise the young woman leant across the table and cut up his food, still chatting. Then I saw a young man tie a napkin around the neck of a woman next to him, curling her fingers around a glass of water, and helping her sit up straighter. It gradually became clear that there were 3 carers spaced between 10 adults all with extreme learning difficulties, sharing a delicious meal in a delightful restaurant. They ate their trout cocktail, slow cooked lamb with spring veg, and tarte au prune with such pleasure, but also with the air of seasoned diners. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such seemingly effortless integration. The exceptional support staff, the jolly waitresses who happily manoeuvred their way past flailing arms and indecipherable repartee, even fellow dinners nodding and smiling encouragement, everyone made it normal. I wish it was.