It's That Equinoxey Time of Year

I could get used to posting on the Earth's four corners and I seem to be doing just that.

Why do I have the feeling that the era starting around the Festival of Britain in 1951 and dying with the Onset of Blair in 1997 was the last go round for anything that made life worthwhile?

Almost everybody looks forward to living in a cockroach-infested cesspit rather than aspire to what a civilisation might have to offer.

But there's that goat-footed balloonMan whistling far and wee again and all good things must come to a start.