I am contemplating the meaning of life and a better world in which houses clean themselves. I see them organizing, protesting, and rallying. One housing type has unionized, demanding better base pay for their cleaning services and a thirteen percent annual increase in funds for Supplies and Minor Maintenance. Major Maintenance policies are being negotiated, but concensus seems hopeless for the moment. No self-respecting house wants to be grouped with dilapidated and orher problematic structures. A few estates are lobbying to be grouped with bungalows. The average cost of their coverage is virtually nothing per square mile. The bungalows are running scared. They need a miracle. If someone doesn't stop that estate lobby, the bungalows are going to pay, proportionately, everything. A few rebels are hiding out in the hills, more or less camouflaged from view. As drones and other spy equipment is used more, these "hidden" havens will be outed. They have location, location, location. But what else do they have? And who wants it?
What began as a little grass roots effort is becoming a human-style turf war of sorts.
And, it is time for morning job.
My garden in England is full of eating-out places, for heat waves, warm September evenings, or lunch on a chilly Christmas morning. (Mary Quant)