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Dehumanisation

I just noticed that our garden store-room’s window, always closed, was hanging open. I went to have a closer look, and sure enough, someone has broken the little latch and climbed in.

Fortunately the room holds absolutely nothing except dusty cardboard boxes and a few carpets, and a broken mattress. Nothing of value, nothing to steal.

I phoned the estate agents and begged them to install burglar bars in the window, which we have temporarily nailed closed. They might come on Monday. Might being the operative word. Monday being any Monday from the 31st of August to the 30th of December 2014.

I’m not shaking this time. My heart isn’t even beating fast. I didn’t swear much. Isn’t this called dehumanisation? Accepting the unnatural and the usually dreadful. Shrugging your shoulders, being grateful you weren’t stabbed in the aorta, and carrying on with your French translation about the tsunamis as a force which brought all earth dwellers together, in a surge of empathy and assistance.

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