Where to begin? Approaching the annual celebration of my forceful ejection from matriarchal netherportions, my fiftieth to be precise, I find myself in the midst of an interesting reinvention of self.

The daily wage compensated mayhem becomes increasing onerous. Blergh.

I don’t feel like I can typify my malaise as symptomatic of some encroaching mid life crisis – and perhaps that is perceptually biased. From Ground Zero, it seems more akin to some form of ‘transition’ or ‘inflection’ point, places in the stream where a decision dictates a path, down one fork or the other.