still, is the wind of change not yet blown out? Are we forever coming to terms? But I remember Punk and duck and cover mockery in the nuclear anxiety age, power cuts and Blair Peach and families renting their tvs from shops on the high street. I remember RAF roundel t-shirts and Noel’s Union Jack guitar. Empire regret feels tired now. So is it the fall of the West? Is it labour prices and the robot threat, AI writing our Christmas card poesy and driving the bus? They’re still building mirrored towers and investing in my town, the uni must bring in more money than all the real-stuff making hereabouts. But people seem nervy and out of hope. I look on, musing, trying not to feel like I’m to blame for everything.
