In the last fifteen years...

I've went from, living like I could be dead tomorrow to hoping I am dead tomorrow.

A lifestyle like this is not explained properly in the beginning. Live like you could be dead tomorrow by all means my dear friend and good luck when, fifteen years later, you have to explain to the gas board that you cannot afford to pay their bill on time because you've lived like you could be dead tomorrow but Fate decided it would be otherwise.

Why does it always rain on me...

Huh, Mistah Travis? Why does it always rain on me. Was it because I lied when I was seventeen? Is it because I am a sinner? Chances are it always rains on me because I live in Scotland, where horizontal rain is the norm and the only purpose of weather itself is to make the populace miserable. Like now for instance.

The other season, Winter, has begun here in Edinburgh and all around Scotland people are living like they could be dead tomorrow. Not through any kind of lifestyle choice you understand, but because they put their faith in a government that promised it would take care of them in their dotage and found that politicians are indeed the lying, treacherous, deceitful, Machiavellian scum that the opposition party says they are.

The roads and pathways of Edinburgh lie un-gritted, despite the absolute certainty that the entire country will freeze overnight if someone leaves a refrigerator open for more than a few minutes, and the weak and frail face smashed hips and broken wrists from the inevitable falls caused by icy walkways... And the only reason they have left the house is to buy enough discounted tins of catfood to see them through the holidays... Gone are the heady days of turkey and all the trimmings...

Christmas approaches the elderly like a Tsunami and the crushing impact will finally smash home at three o'clock on Christmas day when the Queens face beams from the TV and informs us that "The nation prevails" or some other such bullshit. Sure, the nation prevails but the majority are dying in their beds at the end of their life without a pot to piss in.

Meanwhile in the houses and homes of bankers and politicians warmth radiates from the open grates of wood burning fires as they sip their Napoleon brandy, smoke Cuban cigars and ponder when the maid will have Christmas dinner cooked. The rich remain in charge and the poor serve only to remind the middle class that whatever they have can be taken from them at a moments notice.

Merry Fucking Christmas indeed.