An online poll asks me, simply, if the euro’s days are numbered.
Yes or no.
A solitary click to settle this binary debate….
How useful. How very powerful I feel with this crisis in my hand as I hover over the voting buttons.
Nothing like an intricate statistic to settle a debate, to untangle a crisis.
Nothing quite like going to France the May just gone and paying twelve quid for a tinned tuna salad, one pound fifty for a nectarine.
Now I’m not saying the currency crisis is a good thing exactly, but wouldn’t it be nice to go to the ‘continent’ and feel a bit of weight behind the good old British pound?
Like in the good old days, when sixty pence could get you a euros-worth of calzone and have you laughing all the way back to easyjet.
Of course, by the time you’d ridden an hour-and-a-half bus to the impostor of a ‘city airport’ and clambered twenty miles to the terminal, you would no longer be laughing. But all would be forgotten as you slipped a euro in the vendor and coined yourself sixty-pence worth of orangina. Clasping your sides with cackling hysteria…..
The euro may be on its way down, but this wretched recession, or double dip, or credit crunch, or cash crisis, has no one victim. We are all at the blunt end of these harsh bitter financial times.
In Tel Aviv there are so many people camping out protesting about the price of living, that they have renamed the city ‘The Tent’.
We’ve never had it so good.
What compensation can I offer you in times when famous people are dropping like flies and the sun has lost his chapeau?
It’s hard to get a grasp on world economics, let alone find a solution, especially with the floods and fires and droughts and earthquakes and all. The end of the world as we know it.
Harold Camping, incidentally, suffered a stroke on June 9th…..and is no longer broadcasting.
And the one man who may have been able to understand the international monetary side of things ruined his economical mind with an unethical trouser….
Though I may not be able to offer you a comprehensive explanation for this fine mess we’ve got ourselves into, I can suggest a few solutions:
1. Wipe away the world debt. Rendering all currency worthless.
2. Secure a small plot of land with a water hole and some radish plants.
3. Stuff your last few greenbacks into your blood-sweat-and-tear stained ikea mattress.
And the solace I offer to you is a reminder of some of life’s pleasures we do still have:
1. Music, sweet music; an industry that has somewhat
lost its way – with the accessibility of social networking spreading its fractured wings at the same time as heartless hackers stealing songs form artiste’s laptops as they cubase.
2. Television, which due to its non-immediacy reverts to endless repeats of classic comedy; but also thought-provoking, gentle documentaries such as the natural world: my life as a turkey.
3. Coffee. And if you load up your starbucks card you can have black gold for a quid, add a four-quid pappy muffin and pretend you’re not paying for either.
We have each other.
And we can speak to each other on facebook, twitter, skype, and sometimes even email (o ambient survivor). On our iphones and androids which have given up on receiving signal and want to predict what we want to type with our sausage-fingers.
The need for human solidarity has never been stronger.
A hopeless, helpless, feckless solidarity that may soon have us huddling round candles sharing tins of baked beans, because we can’t afford gas, electricity, or to cover our broken roofs in solar panels.
You can’t even get your tonsils taken out anymore.
We need to wish for better times; to walk the Camino de Santiago, to throw away our possessions, to rest in the eerie shadow of the ozone.
Jack in your job. Turn off your phone. Grab your guitar. Hold someone’s hand. Dig a hole. Lay in it, and wait for the world to join you.
The shit isn’t over yet, but at least the earth hasn’t forgotten to keep turning.
Hold on tight, it’s going to be a long way down….
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I have jacked in my job and am heading for the hole. Thank you.