The seven o’clock news brings more tales of doom and gloom, the stock markets in the Far East have plunged again on rumours that Wall Street will open down in a few hours. When Wall Street opens it will fall in reaction to the falls in the Far East. We are moving towards a recession says an expert in economic forecasting, it will be deeper than we expect and longer. As he leaves the studio I am sure I can hear the plop of the entrails sliding off the desk. Unemployment, closures, the worst outlook since Harold took off his visor for a breather at the battle of Hastings. A man from one of the banks feels that the banks and other financial institutions are not yet confident to start lending to each other and like a gambler wanting one last bet or a heroin addict one last fix suggest that a few more billions of government money may be needed to restore their confidence. Our money. The taxpayers, the ones losing their jobs, the ones that get official sounding letters from banks for having the temerity to go £10 over their overdraft limit. Local Authorities are queuing up to be bailed out after investing the poor tax payers money in Icelandic banks that themselves were caught up in the dash for wealth and riches.And the Government lurches from announcement to announcement, drunk on the drama of it all, worn out by the late nights, bloated by the take away curries, eyes bleary and stinging from harsh lights and staring at plasma screens.
Outside the leaves, orangey and tinged and wrinkled yellowy at the edges, fall from the trees in our garden and pile up on the lawn. The birds, sensing the on set of winter, noticing the fading light, the cooler air, hurry to store berries against the cold. The Goyt is still there, wreathed in a morning mist, silent now and turning brown and golden as autumn drifts to winter. A season ends and so the cycle begins again.