Rapid Response

I've got two humans in tow, differently-sized each a parcel of traits and possibilities likes and fears one wants to be an artist one wants to be a superhero both wrapped up  against the first cold day of Autumn A clean moon in a washed sky the novelty of breath and we stand and wait at the side of the road  for the tide of one tonne metal boxes towering over the littlest's head each carrying one person to belch and fart past us, inches away a seemingly endless stream of personal choice dreams of individual freedom as an act of collective madness doing their bit for the two humans' future

Women, no-one's victim-blaming, and lessons will be learned, but while they are you need to do more Stop bringing this on yourselves by wandering around being women you've only yourselves to blame while we're learning lessons Be streetwise, women, don't put yourselves at risk by being women, have you tried  not? No, not like that A pair of socks down the trousers and an open can of lager, when stopped by an unmarked man, talk of football and whose back doors you've smashed in Put your attacker at ease, he doesn't want to be a criminal, you're  making him do it by being a woman, we are learning though But we understand while lessons are being learned there's some risk,   so... keep yourself safe: demand ID Flag down a bus Sprint for safety Resist arrest Roam the street in gangs Develop superpowers Stay at home Wear plate armour Only leave the house in a tank Work out more Dress more plainly Text your location three times per minute just learn to live with

Bushels and pecks and barleycorns a glorious inheritance chains, leagues, gills the tides of history the great rolling mass of history, our reclaimed birthright one holds back a tear while ordering a quarter of humbugs for everything is quantifiably British now, we can measure our waiting lists in leagues, count our dead by the hundredweight observe the roods of sleeping bags and cardboard the queue at the food bank is ten perches long (or ten rods, if you prefer, either way, it's 250 links) two gallons to the peck of tears four to the half bushel emphasise the Imperial ahead of the measurement, and why stop there? why not count the flow of money in florins settling gently on the floors of offshore counting-houses Universal Credit, reduced by guineas but a thrupennny bit for nurses, be grateful have a shilling, console yourself that even if there's no food on the shelves at least we can measure nothing in ounces

everyone worked hard for everything that they have and they'll let you know it wasn't that they had anything handed to them: they sacrificed and you should too, if you would just work hard enough why won't you do that? torrents of advice things you need to stop doing: having takeaways drinking your coffee eating smashed avocado on toast , for your brunch we never had those things we had house prices at three times annual wage not twenty-six, sure but not avocados  you just expect it all we sat on the floor for years , and yet you expect chairs as your birthright and okay houses were much cheaper then than now but what do you think we meant when we said sacrifice ? we meant yours, for us, for our houses

It was with some degree of trepidation that I acceded to Cornelius' request for a day trip to the seaside. I am by nature a creature of towns. I prefer the murk of an afternoon pub, the quiet of the library, the comforting smell of spilled petrol and the lullabies of the drunks. The seaside seems so much. It is a sensory overload. the gaudy buckets, the jangling arcades, whatever candyfloss actually is. But my housemate was insistent that he needed some sea air, and so the coast it was to be. He had claimed that, as I had picked the location of our last excursion, it was his turn. I had countered this by saying all I had suggested was a trip to the pub the previous evening, but he staid that still counted. Gracefully, I conceded the point, and so we made post haste for the sea. I will confess that once I had got used to the intensity of the sunshine I began to enjoy myself, a change is as good as a rest, as my dear old Nana used to say, which explains why she owned so many clothes

We hold each other as best we know how working out our histories  mapping them onto each other and dancing round past lives the sudden occlusions of history in short, we take care as humans should, of others as each song sung just once deserves its best rendition and if we have to hide from the world we should do so with grace and clarity because we demean ourselves when we endanger others and lies will poison us, in the end