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Uploaded 25th October
Apologies for the appalling nostalgia https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=YG9otasNmxI

As the increasing tension builds to its inevitable crescendo the feelings of attachment, loss and all the legions of other stuff gather around the borders of my consciousness.
The primitive safety seeking, the deep rumbling anxiety at the pre-linguistic level that goes with feeling profoundly unsettled.
To coin a phrase ... ‘Ugh’ (thanks Gendelin).
Like sitting on the burgeoning earthquake.
As Paul Gilbert would say, ‘it’s all about the emotions, stupid’!
We think we’ve lost it all until we lose or foresee losing the next bit. Home, health, things, people ... whatever ... it’ll be David Attenborough and the Queen next. All those things known and unknown that give some semblance of safety and security.

I woke up this morning feeling I just don’t want to do this bit. Not this bit. Not home. Not the bit where we lived, loved, got sick and then you went and bloody died. At least I can retain something of the feeling here. Our place. Our home. The light, the wonderful light that floods our bedroom.
But no, someone else holds the power over. Someone else operates these particular strings. Someone for whom this place just means rental income. Come on Marx, where are you?

So, as for you, you that operates all the other strings, just cut to the chase and get it all over and done with.
The chaps are gone, what the fuck’s the point in eking it out?
It’ll be the knees and hips next.
And then I’ll chuck in the guilt, the white, middle class, educated, western world privileged guilt. For god’s sake pull yourself together. The meritocracy as my friend, Michael, would point out.
It’s just a house, you even have another one waiting in the wings. Just learn to love it. Give it a chance. Commit.
Enter stage left, haul on the rope boys, pull it out on stage, for goodness sake, you know you can, make an effort there, haul it out, give birth to the late developer, let slip compassion from its over half a century gestational amniotic sac.
... and don’t let those steel capped boots kick the living shit out of it.
And then of course (bring on the ancients) there’s the ‘be careful what you wish for‘ ... there might be hope, that thing I’m not so sold on, you know, the one, with feathers.