live long Amy

There is a garbage collection strike today. I have read most of Ragged Trousered Philanthropist - the present offer is less than the rate of inflation, keeping in mind they are only earning just above minimum wage now, should I support them when they are faced with threatened redundancy if given a better pay rise? - or should I put out the bins and hope for the best.
Or should I sit on my hill, accept my impotence and read a book. P has lent me the newish Plum, kill or cure.
My mind is moosh, I have no definition, I may recant some of my previous musings.
Today I am miserable and there isn't really a good excuse [discounting the perfectly reasonable existential angst that should be the basis of every thought word and deed]. Nothing much has changed from the day a couple or two back when I was cheery to the point of smuggery.
Oh Amy Winehouse is singing Cupid draw back your Bow on Radio6, life suddenly got better, amazing how wonderful she sounds when you don't see her pottering about with wonky beehive and a big glass of something pink on the stage.
Gone now, that silly noisy man is on for hours......... back to a CD and misery.
I suspect that my moaning is largely hormonal, so maybe memory doesn't make us who we are, maybe it is just the pineal gland.
Also I wonder if I am feminist who doesn't like women, maybe I live in a cosy glow of theory which Correctly defines the gender position in the country IMO but perhaps due to eons of conditioning women really can be a pain.
It could be in the genes, we had/have to compete with each other to attract a mate and continue our line, but that has got corrupted over time into habitual cattiness and back stabbing.
Told you I was fed up.