Monday makes the end of the week seem so far away.


Today, I have thought upon polar expeditionaries from the early twentieth century, in their tweeds and stout walking shoes, heading off to the poles.

I’ve also thought about those sleeping rough upon the streets.

One group made a choice to seek fame in their exploits – going to the pole because it was there.

The other has ended up in a place where they would not chose to go – and there is no fame for them.

Even indoors, there is a bitter chill to the air, and the heating has been left off because of the cost.

My feet are not toasty – even with two pairs of socks on, and I am one of the lucky ones.

People become bodies, on the streets as it was upon the Antarctic, when life is withdrawn from them.


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