Lucky fucker

I can't really complain. I'm a jammy git. Born at a good time.

After WW II, families like mine profitted from, well, the war. Better wages, social benefits.

My mother's family were clever. But the early death of her father in the 1830s meant grammar school wasn't an option. Couldn't afford it.

When my mother was widowed in the 1970s, me and my brother had free school uniforms, free school meals. Grammar school was still an option. I didn't pay to go to university. I was paid to go. I didn't realise how lucky I was. It seemed normal And part of progress.

Won't say that all the modern world is crap. Some modern technology is incredible empowering. Being creative is easier than ever, in some ways. 

I can fulfill my John Bull printing set dreams. Publish my own books. Anything I want. And someone might even buy them.

(Maybe just as well I couldn't publish back in the 1970s. There's a reason I burned my teenage poetry. Fuck me. If I had published that.)

Got to live in a beautiful part of a beautiful city. Before xenophobes complicated that. And accommodation here got too expensive.

Waved a very happy farewell to work at 63. Just wish it had been a decade or so earlier.

Still wish I was 18. So much I still want to do.