Another Life

My facial muscles may not betray any kind of brow furrowing but inside I’m boiling. My analyst (if I had one) would say that I’m incompatible with modern life. His report would start. ‘Jon is seemingly disconnected from his immediate surroundings. His ennui is exacerbated by his inability to accept the trials and tribulations of 21st century Britain – he is; not of this age.’

Ok, that’s a bit of an overstatement. Sitting on the motorway in a jam and wondering why on earth I’m there doesn’t really constitute mild psychosis. Although I can’t help thinking that us children of the seventies would have been much happier growing up through the fifties and sixties. The yearning for a simpler life is a strong urge that lives in all of us. Given the chance we would willingly ditch the daily drudge for a space on a quiet distant shore.

This weeks tip for grannies:

Keep the cash stashed under the bed. Best place for it.

This weeks beef:

Telephone sales people. If I never had to deal with the corporate equivalent of a knife-wielding mugger for the rest of my life it would be too soon.