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Showing posts from July, 2007

Domesticity as a political act

So we're homeowners now. We have our feet on the property ladder, we have enetered the great cpaitalost gangbang. Strange unwarranted thoughts have flitted across my mind about buying second ones to let, I have stopped myself, told myself not to be evil, reminded myself how the buy to letters are the scum of the earth who inflated prices to the extent that you are now required to work at least nine days out of every seven, that I will never join their number. That to do so would be to declare myself a non-human, a pile of flesh concerned only with profit, with no finer feelings, no appetites beyond the relentless accumulation of pounds. Your whole worldview shifts and lurches suddenly, you see, it's an upsetting thing. I pay attention to interest rates. Mrs Coastaltown reads magazines with pictures of expensive furniture in and whimpers occasionally. I fret about the prices of the houses on either side, when next door went on sale at 10K more than we paid for ours did I shake

Moderately entertaining

Ormskirk's capacity to entertain me remains undiminished. What's particularly good is that it tends to save its most enlivening moments up for when i'm not feeling quite at my sparkling best. So, a trip to the off-license undertaken with a splitting hangover (hang on a minute, I think I see a way out of this) was cheered immensley by the guy cleaning the fridge who waved a can of cleaning fluid at his coworker and said "I hope this isn't flammable, it's just got in the vents", looked at the can, said "oh, it is" and then carried on . Better yet was walking back through town yesterday to the sound of a securicor van in distress, an alarm informing all and sundry in mellifluous female tones that "Attention: A Securicor employee requires assistance, call the police", this in itself was novelty enough, and cause to reflect that, given that the people who would in the normal course of events hear the alarm would be the robbers of said van

Well then

So this is the internet. It's dustier than I recall. Good morning / afternoon / evening / elevenses / fuck me it's light (delete as applicable). I would appear to be opening the windows and airing out the hoary old shed that is coastalblog, now that the Coastal Towers remainders have succesfully upped sticks and shifted to the mean streets of Ormskirk's Scott Estate. A place so hardcore that I have to walk five minutes to buy a copy of the guardian, as the local newsies only stocks the Times. It doesn't get any realer. Word. Doubtless various twee aside on the nature of becoming a responsible home-owner and prospective parent will be spewing forth from the keyboard before too much longer, so none of that for the time being, I thought it best to clear my throat first. Ahem. Hello.