January 25th 2020


Well, I’ve had precious little time to do anything at all blog wise this week, we’ve had tons of stuff on. I even missed Friday Fictioneers, which I very rarely do but so far this year its happened twice and I have no idea what has happened.

Getting too many notifications from people telling me I can improve myself, increase my stats, maximise my earning potential. I don’t have anything to sell apart from records, but as any real collector would know, you can’t sell records if you collect them, even the shit ones, it’s the law.

Last week Mrs T was told her job is no longer going to be a thing, as from the end of Feb I think she will be told officially and then maybe the end of May, may be the day she waves goodbye to the corporate world. Scary shit. As a consequence we reckon its time to make a new start, to try to live a fuller life, less corporate bollocks, and spend less money on a Mortgage. That’s the plan, the wheels have been oiled and a perfectly friendly local estate agent who seems to have the whole of WR6 nailed down is going to sell our house for us. Today Mrs T was out buying prom dresses for our daughter, and I found my self in charge, having watched Leicester beat Brentford, lit the fire, played football with my son in the dog shit splattered and scattered garden.

Posh estate agent arrived, and told me how we are going to dress our house, which involves moving ¬†anything which isn’t glued to the surfaces to be crammed into a cupboard or drawers. White plates, a massive bunch of white flowers which can be moved from room to room, expensive perfume bottles and fancy wine, no cans of right guard deodorant, wires must be hidden.

“We are selling a life style, an aspiration”

Christ its like being told how to get more followers for my blog, but the means justifies the end I guess and with luck we will sell our little cottage to the highest bidder with the aim to move into a modern house, which will be a first for me, I’m used to draughts and damp patches, not in my trousers, but there again as I get older these things probably will happen. I just hope and wonder to myself if that by selling a lifestyle and an aspiration will I be buying into the very thing I profess to dislike and scoff at.

And as I write I wonder if I too am very similar to my parents, all be it in the early stages of parental metamorphosis. Not related by birth, sent away to boarding school at 12 and having never really returned, it is very surprising to me how much I have inherited via nurture from my folks. I’ve just got to be on my guard, see the signs and work hard to plough my own furrow.

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