I know it’s pathetic but I fantasise about having a nice cushy middle class life. A nice house, but not a palace. A nice car, but a Volvo, not a Bentley. Not being a billionaire but having enough to not having to worry about the car, the computer or the washer breaking down.

The things this fucked up system used to tell me were within my reach until suddenly I was told that I was the creator of my own misery and that I had been a fool for ever believing I could have nice things.