Stuff / Soul

I’ve spent the evening going through the accumulated geological layers of crap in my basement, sorting it into stuff that I need, and stuff I can give or throw away. I am doing this because I am going to leave this area, and move on. I’ll be taking a smaller flat, much cheaper, and right beside a massive forest. In fact, the view from my new balcony will be – forest. No SUVs, no interchangeable blonde couples jogging around, no tossers parking on the bike lane. Just fucking forest.

This neighbourhood has been fine, for the three years I’ve been here. It’s by the water, and modern in a good way, and close to town and forest, plus the people I know in my building are lovely. Except for one thing. It’s too bloody rich. Upper-middle class rich. Soulless people wandering the clean streets like confused zombies with too much cash and no idea what to do with their pampered, self-obsessed lives.

The people living here have too much money, and they just spend it all on shit. Total and utter shit. Like fancier cars. Or new furniture. Or uglier bigger televisions. Or new fucking kitchens.

What’s the deal with kitchens anyway? Why, suddenly, does every moneyed moron have a burning desire to change their kitchen? What the fuck’s wrong with the old one? Is it broken? Does the toaster smell funny? Or is the wall the wrong fucking shade of egg-shell white?

I know the answer. They’ve seen it in some interior design magazine and decided it’s “for them”, the fucking mindless sheep.

Anyway, back to the present rant. The fact that my neighbours have too much money can easily be seen in the “recycling room”. This is where they offload their excess consumables, things that won’t fit in their cavernous basements. And, my God, you should see the stuff they throw away.

Sacks full of designer clothes. Brand new shoes. Electronics. Mobile telephones. Furniture. A few months back, I saw a stodgy pair offload about twenty banana boxes full of nice crystal, and old books, and toys from the 1950s. You could tell it was the contents of an older relative’s house. Their whole life, basically, dumped in a rubbish pile by two unimaginative twits with more money than life-force.

There are charity shops that take this stuff. Lots of them. But my brain-dead neighbours clearly can’t be arsed. Fuck the poor, let them get their own ugly designer shoes and fucking denim shorts.

Today I found a big “fat” television. I actually need a television for my Eurovision party next week, so I took it. It works perfectly. Of course. When I’m done, I’ll put it back. Look, here it is:

See too the other photos I’ve stuck to this article. All taken tonight. And this is just an average Sunday.

It’s very clear that people in this country have too much money, and don’t realise it. They have summer houses, boats, cars, foreign holidays, and still whinge that their taxes are too high. And that they don’t have enough time.

Well FUCK you all. You want more time, work less. Learn to get by on less stuff, and find joy in simple things, and you’ll be a lot fucking happier.

They won’t be happy though, will they? They’ll just be boring and have brightly coloured, fancy, loud and ultimately empty lives.

And if you ask me they’ve made their choice and they fucking deserve it.

/ paddy