Back in Londres. It is damp. It always seems to be damp these days. My gloom today, I realise, is partially imparted by the weather. I’ve been a bit low the last few days, partly the effect of visiting the Coastal Town, which is not my place. Whatever you might say about Londres, it isn’t the Coastal Town.
I made it back in time to get to the pagan festivities yesterday. Was too tired to really enjoy, though the aim of the ritual was a worthy one: to bring an end to the endless winter. We discussed witchcraft in the middle ages, and a book that weaves a strong feminist narrative around it. Some of us are worried about the narrative, even if we agree with the ideology. We detoured into the role of narratives in creating a future. Nobody denied the future exists, which says a lot for the people who were there. Can we create an alliance for the future?
I think it’s impossible to leave Londres, and that’s why I rarely do. It gets everywhere, like syphilis and bankers. That sounds negative, so let me state for the record that Londres is the least worst place in these dark islands. As for whether it will be a better or worse place to be when the end comes, who knows, and maybe house prices will decide our locations for us anyway.
Buenos Aires, I discovered last year, is a good place to be. Plenty happening, plenty of people with hope for the future – far more than here – and better weather. But Londres is there too, it turns out. The soya merchants and other scalpers have driven up the prices of property so much that no normal or decent person can buy in the centre any more. Humanity free zones across the globe. It’s not much of a rallying slogan for global capitalism, but it makes the chains look accidental, hence the lack of rioting so far.
This morning I went to the barber in Savage Cross. He voted for Brexit despite being from Cyprus himself. There’s just too many of ‘em now.
That ritual had better work.