I have this rug, right? And it’s a luxury one – to me. Less than a ton down the market, and about four inches deep.  I found myself staring at it the other day, imagining a family of six, seven, eight, sleeping upon it. It’s warm, and it’s dry.

Nobody should be homeless – and being that we are all descended from immigrants, we are they and they are us. They aren’t migrants, or infiltrators – they are REFUGEES. And if you have a floor, you have the room.

As a kid, I’d scribble my name and address down in the front of all my books – zooming further and further out into the cosmos as I went.

Wavertree Nook Road…

…Wavertree…

…Liverpool…

…Merseyside…

…The North West…

…England…

…The UK…

…Europe…

…The World…

…The Universe…

If you zoom out far enough, you can look back at Earth. What do you see? One big boat: and everybody’s on it.

We all hail from the same place in any case. Before any splitting of one great landmass. Before continents – and we – separated and divided. Before we started sinking.

You shouldn’t need 20/20 vision in order to see what’s going on – your mind’s eye should be enough. Mine shows me things I don’t necessarily wish to see, and sometimes I put those things to my mind’s back. Store ’em in my RAM for later. But other times…oftentimes…I hear a scream, yelling me back down to Earth.

So, whilst I have a voice for writin’ and a pen for thinkin’, I’ll bloody well use ’em.  I have a floor. I have the room.

I also have a rug. Come and snuggle up. And stay.

Stay.