I love reading the letters page of the local newspaper, it’s truly the home of the first world problem. A lady trips on a piece of broken pavement and hurts herself, she goes to complain only to find council has fixed the problem before she gets to have her whinge. She still manages a bleat, why does it take someone to hurt themselves before action is taken? A man goes for a browse at the local tip shop, (yes what we throw away is so good it can be resold) and finds a tin of toxic paint that he complains he can’t open thereby denying himself the life threatening injuries that were promised on the tin. Another complains that people living in expensive apartments are having to put up with “the blight” of people selling drugs in the street below. And Fremantle has a crisis, says another, too few charging points for electric cars, the sea will no doubt rush up High St this afternoon. And finally a lament as to why politicians keep giving money to Africa the “I can’t help myself can’t feed myself” continent. And meanwhile in the real world….
We are so used to everything working and having someone to blame when it doesn’t we have become utterly useless and non-resilient. Or maybe we are so used to living with anxiety that we search for stuff that justifies it. Thoughts?