Paying in advance for someone to take photos of our house and sell a lifestyle from within is a thought which never occured to me. Kirsty the telly estate agent; I know, I can’t believe they exist either, but they seem to be here to stay. Flogging us the middle class dream, attainable to all, shaming clutter and encouraging people to clear their houses out, up cycling stuff. Some of that I get, recycling is good, and donating to charity shops and organisations is a good thing, lord knows we do a large bag of clothes, shoes, toys and whatever else needs to go every month. Yes I do gift aid and heres my post code, to do whatever you do with it.

But for all these products given away, I suspect there is a sizeable amount which will go into a large hole in the ground, like the spoil heaps and bottle dumps of old where lucky future prospectors will find heavily faded pastel hued plastic, good for nothing, and hardly worth cleaning to display on a shelf. I don’t know if the stuff will dissolve or leach into the soils of Gaia, I guess that is probably the least of our problems with the Antarctic recording the hottest ever temperature last week, about 18’C if I remember correctly, how long before we spot some fame hungry influencer in a skimpy bikini or some ice white speedos in an ill judged “Frozen Safari” where you can see the plight of the creatures from your solar powered heated deck, the sun shining 24 hours a day.

I’ll tell you for what, it won’t be long before some stupid fucker goes out there, a Youtuber, a singer too young to know any better.

Anyway the house is up for sale, photos have to be taken, shit has to be put away, stuffed into cupboards, clear the work surfaces, light the fire, brew coffee, bake bread, all the classics, to con the viewer that this is how you too could live. Unlike the man who seemingly took a massive shit inside the toilet of the house we viewed last week just before we arrived, it stank to hell and he’d opened all the doors, lit candles, strategically places wine on the kitchen table with a couple of glasses, good times can be had in here my friends.

But the smell of the shit man, what sort of animal are you? As we arrived, the guy who had presumably done the crime, made a swift exit leaving his colleague to clean up, washing someone else’s shit off the porcelain with his own piss, because no one thought to provide a fucking toilet brush. Sell the lifestyle see; the type of people who live here have no need for a toilet brush, they are clean porcelain people with very little in their pockets, the only thing they leave on the kitchen work surfaces is a phone on a wireless charger.

Not sure what the solution is to clearing our your house, I guess don’t buy shit. But then  if I look at myself today; I buy a lot of records, vinyl, which is totally not recyclable, the records made from recycled plastics sound terrible apparently. It’s my addiction but then I’m neither going to throw any of them away, nor will I throw any in a cupboard to please Kirsty the telly estate agent.