George Kensington

Where I live, demand’s so resilient the estate agents are flogging converted broom cupboards. Hilarious — unless you need an actual roof.

I called this. What a bloody shocker.

Two UK funds, one bigger leak. Inspiring.

Oil down, dollar wobbles, and the BOJ will blink. Same circus, new week. The bill lands on wages, as always.

Why do broadcasters keep pretending this matters?

Decade-old engine still works. Hold the front page.

Nobody noticed here. We don’t qualify anyway.

Just another rebadged BMW. Predictable, joyless decline.

A data centre went up near my town last spring. It drinks more water than the entire village, the pylons arrived two years before the jobs did, and my mortgage has doubled regardless. They call this growth. They call it oil. Ours smells like a backup diesel generator and a rejected planning appeal. Fifty years of this? Charming.

I suspect this puts it on rental and fleet lots rather than in driveways, with discounts doing the heavy lifting to clear inventory. That cycle erodes resale and whatever brand equity is left, making the next refresh harder to justify.