CH-ch-ch-ch changes (Turn and face the strange)/Ch-ch changes, just gonna have to be a different man are the lines that have been coursing through my brain synapses for the past few months. I have always loved the music of David Bowie and how well he crafted his lyrics. Changes ranks highly on my Spotify compilations or, as the kids refer to them: ‘Phil’s Big List’. But like many of my now antediluvian generation I had forgotten most of the words. Especially the verse that goes: And these children that you spit on/As they try to change their worlds/Are immune to your consultations/They’re quite aware of what they’re going through.
Thanks, Google. Though now, I do remember angrily spitting out those words in my bedroom, as I contemplated the injustices of youth and my parents, following it with the different chorus endings: don’t tell them to grow up and out of it and where’s your shame, you’ve left us up to our necks in it.
It is an odd moment in time. I must admit I am excited about the potential for a big future recalibration. On climate, on the countryside, on politics, on the haves and have nots, and on how we treat each other regardless of race, colour or creed. But I do appreciate that an equal number are frightened and fearful.
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