I am, perhaps for the first time, at a loss for neat words to express myself at the moment. When you move house, and move house, and move house, and still feel unhappy, then there is a common thread. I know that the suburban gothic horror that goes on in my head is probably the source of my unhappiness.
Where I live is a really nice market town, surrounded by spectacularly beautiful rumpled countryside. I work with lovely people. On the minus side, my job sucks the most unpleasant arse. And I'm about forty minutes' drive from writing groups and performance spaces and creative people. But on balance life is stable and comfortable, if slightly parochial.
Nearly three years ago I returned to a country that is just a ghost of something. It is run by soulless people with no sense of shame or honour. People who will lie as easily as they draw breath. I'm sure there is something of this in most countries but there is a horrible maliciousness in this current UK government. It feels like they want to keep people on a low income down as far as possible. And those of us on a middle income are not safe. In France, fuel prices have risen by 4%. In the UK by 54%. People are having to choose between heat or food. And the government doesn't give a shit. As long as all their mates keep trousering profits, they'll tell us to put on another jumper and eat cheap pasta.
Sorry. I wanted to write something entertaining. All I can think about is the people I miss, and the things I miss. I am still on a WhatsApp group from Brussels because I cannot find it in my heart to leave. Was I stupid to move back to the UK? It felt like a compelling need at the time. But I miss Europe. I am a European.
No comments:
Post a Comment