There are things you don’t ask for, that sometimes others crave.

The value of these can be disproportionate to that craving; people think they’ve set up an infrastructure that allows them easy access to something that really isn’t theirs for the taking.

I’d have happily sat back and let them all get on with their Jeremy Vile lifestyles if they’d only left me in peace. However, money does funny things to peoples’ heads and I’ve noticed they quite often find it hard to grasp the concept that I’m not really interested in it. Especially when it belongs to other people.

It’s a device that can be used to control the needy. Handout here, small bung there – now you do what I want you to do.  So I’ve shied away from ever asking for – or becoming dependent on – other peoples’ money.

Hence the dislocation. I am deemed trustworthy; ergo turn up with several biscuit tins stuffed with notes that the Godfather would be proud of and it’ll be taken care of. But people fail to understand that my innate common sense refuses to let me sucked into the black hole of larceny. I also will not be bludgeoned into providing services I wasn’t willing to give before.  If I don’t iron my own clothes willingly, WTF would I do yours?

I don’t want to be blackmailed. I don’t want to be responsible. I don’t want to be the only port in a storm. I have enough on my plate without becoming my parent’s parent.


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