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It occurred to me this weekend (as we were slinking through yet another Medieval relic) that I live in a complete cocoon. I wake up in the morning in my 16th Century farmhouse. I have a short, pleasant trip into town across unspoiled farmland. I get paid to shuffle ancient objects around in a scheduled monument. Then home to watch episodes of Antiques Roadshow or the Hidden History of Archaeology.

Weekends is all village fetes, church flower festivals and historic buildings.

My life. England porn. Week in, week out.

I probably shouldn’t say this bit, but I never see a Face of Color, except on advertisements, or if the chef from the local tandoori steps out for a cigarette. The South of England is Whitemanistan.

I didn’t plan it this way. I wasn’t, like, working toward this place my whole life. It was just a supremely happy accident.

The idea of repopulating this lovely corner of the world with ululating splodey-dopes fills me with rage.

sock it to me

September 22, 2015 — 8:49 pm
Comments: 18