Today we’re sitting in a brand new house on a brand new development on a spit of land – somebody said it was a brownfield site next to Greengates near to Blackfriars – just beside the River Irwell, just in Salford, just outside Manchester, about a mile from where we started, thinking about who decides how we live and where we live, and who are our neighbours, who’s paying us, how we’re entangled in it all, and what’s missing, what used to be here, who’s entitled to what, and what should we do about it.

We’re talking about dancing.

And about language and getting things wrong and shame and anger and frustration and not having the right conversation at the right time.  About how little we really know about the lives of others and how hard it can be to talk about things.  About good and bad places to have arguments. About the vital importance of dissent. About agonistic pluralism, and how to do it.

And about memory and nostalgia and pride and sentimentality and worth and warmth and value and purpose.

About what we’ll have for lunch.

Today we’re thinking about what’s new

– almost everything around us in this house –

and repairs.

A better hook that won’t leave a mark for a new clock to replace the one that fell off the wall already.

Today we’re thinking about what’s next.

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