Viva Brighton Issue #46 December 2016

COLUMN
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John Helmer
Meta
Illustration by Joda, jonydaga.weebly.com
“You should put that in your column,” says Poppy.
“Put what in my column?”
“The thing I just said: it was really smart and funny.”
“Sorry, I was thinking about something else.”
“Daddy! You should listen to your daughter - what
were you thinking about?”
“Hygge.”
“What was that noise you made?”
“It’s a Danish word. Google Translate says it means
‘fun’, but I’m not sure that’s right. To be honest, I’m
not sure I know what it means.”
I’m making tea, Poppy’s making herself an omelette
for breakfast.
“Are you going to put this in your column?” she says.
“What?”
“This conversation we’re having.”
“No. That would be too meta.”
“Meta?” Now I’m really testing her patience.
“You know: writing about writing, films about
films—? Like the credits on The Simpsons when
they’re on the sofa watching the TV, and the TV is
showing them on the sofa watching TV?”
Infinite, nightmarish recursion.
Meta is a word I learned from Poppy’s older
sister. My theory is that it migrated down
the food chain from Academia via Media
Studies. “…Writing my column about
what I’m going to write my column
about: that would be meta.”
Poppy shrugs and fills a Tupperware tub
with quinoa salad she has made for her
school lunch (this is Fiveways, after all)
then breaks off to tend to her omelette. I
finish making tea and take a cup to Poppy’s
mother, who is in bed recovering from her
operation, which had something to
do with lymph nodes.
“Poppy’s trying to get me to put stuff about her in
my column.”
“What’s it supposed to be about this month?”
The sun is not up yet. Kate’s eyelids are drooping
with fatigue from the painkillers, but there’s a
scented candle burning, dissipating the sense of a
sickroom. It looks cosy in there. From the kitchen
we can hear Poppy humming Silent Night.
“Hygge. Except I don’t know what it means.”
“Are you going to write more about my cancer this
month?”
“No. I keep getting messages on Twitter from people
saying it makes them cry.”
“Is that bad?”
“I was aiming for wryly amusing. This is new territory.”
I think about another word that begins with
meta - a word we try not use too much: metastasis.
Back in the kitchen, Poppy is cramming two pumpkins
that she and her sister carved for Halloween
into an Ocado bag. “For the goats,” she explains.
“Do goats eat pumpkins?”
“They eat everything.” Poppy’s school keeps a
collection of goats it has named after inspirational
figures from the arts and sciences. “—and they fight
all the time. Alan Turing keeps headbutting Maya
Angelou…”
Shouldering her Fjallraven Kanken backpack, she
makes for the door.
“So what was it?” I ask.
“What?”
“The smart and funny thing you said.”
“Oh. Can’t remember. Bye Daddy!”
“What about a kiss for your old dad?”
“I’m not even going to answer that.”
‘Hygge’, I think to myself, closing the door behind
her; ‘where am I going to find out what hygge
means..?’
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