As Earth continues its aloof encircling of the sun, it's increasingly difficult for the human passengers to keep up with the pace of life. The faultlessly frail are rendered physically or mentally broken by the world, and even the robust and boisterous amongst us—including those who suspiciously exhibit no confusion in regard to the stark irrationality of existence—seem to have to fight to find their place. Perhaps none of us really have a place anymore. 

2024 is decidedly not an average vintage, and it contains a multiplicity of stories. I would surmise that if somebody visited 150 different estates this year, they'd hear 150 distinct reports.

It's a reality of life. Assuming a lack of independent wealth, and unless one is willing to forfeit virtually all of the conventions of modern existence in the Western world, one must seek gainful employment. Since none of my innumerable passions doubled as opportunities to earn even the most basic living, this depressing fact daunted me for many years. It wasn't until I was in my mid-twenties that the disillusionment gave way to a glimmer of hope when a burgeoning interest of mine seemed to coincide with an accessible “industry”.

It took me a long time to realise it… And once I realised it, it took me a long time to care because I knew that despite having the truth on our side, the subsequent battle wouldn’t be an easy one. But eventually, following repeated exposure, I had to acknowledge an incontestable fact which I'm now going to share with you.