It Could Be Worse?
There is something pleasant about being indoors in Winter. Horizons shrink to the wall opposite one's computer, where photos of countries far, far away are inviting more travel.
"I have no complaints" was a common answer to being asked how things were years ago. Nowadays everything seems to be dramatically awful, which sends me off into a fit of "fou rire". Nobody else seems to see the joke in not being to assess whether fiscal ruin will come in the form of 6 or 8 billion. My idea of expense and luxury is set at having a coffee out from time to time, rather than in the comfort of my own kitchen. Looking forward to a break from all the moaning when I head for upbeat Australia keeps spirits up. There is no advantage in whining in Melbourne.
Friends in France seem to have more to lose at the moment, as there was once a very secure way of life there that meant that citizens did not feel obliged to emigrate every time the economy was dented a bit. Now the pensions row has got everybody riled up, which means that I am not inspired to visit a country where the populace is in a mood and throwing things. It would be alright if one just stayed there, but getting in an out of the Hexagone recently has been awkward and stressful.
Also, recent bellicose noises coming from EU leaders makes living on a rock in the Atlantic a wise choice.
It certainly could be worse.
I could be forced to go out of doors...
"I have no complaints" was a common answer to being asked how things were years ago. Nowadays everything seems to be dramatically awful, which sends me off into a fit of "fou rire". Nobody else seems to see the joke in not being to assess whether fiscal ruin will come in the form of 6 or 8 billion. My idea of expense and luxury is set at having a coffee out from time to time, rather than in the comfort of my own kitchen. Looking forward to a break from all the moaning when I head for upbeat Australia keeps spirits up. There is no advantage in whining in Melbourne.
Friends in France seem to have more to lose at the moment, as there was once a very secure way of life there that meant that citizens did not feel obliged to emigrate every time the economy was dented a bit. Now the pensions row has got everybody riled up, which means that I am not inspired to visit a country where the populace is in a mood and throwing things. It would be alright if one just stayed there, but getting in an out of the Hexagone recently has been awkward and stressful.
Also, recent bellicose noises coming from EU leaders makes living on a rock in the Atlantic a wise choice.
It certainly could be worse.
I could be forced to go out of doors...
posted by Tales from the Birch Wood. at
12:45
1 Comments:
It's a curiously liberating thing, "paring down." We've actually come to enjoy the process, since moving to the UK with only 200 cubic feet of "stuff." Since the move, we've gotten rid of much of that (although we've added a bit of furniture).
Cooking at home, switching from coffee to tea, from film to digital photography ... it all adds up!
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