Dustman, Michael Rosen, I love this poem, the noises of the morning, the emotional, social and moral dilemmas of a week day, the pragmatism of having a system to shed the stuff of human endeavour, the conversations that randomly happen in the street between two strangers, the way that a fleeting relationship builds, forms and then disintegrates. It’s comforting. We need this stuff to keep us present, solid ground to walk on when there is a sea of turmoil, waking up to the same scene day in day out matters because in all the confusion we know that what we see is true even if it isn’t what we want, without this truth we would stumble and fall, disappearing into an unstructured space, swirling with the cacophony of everything, bashing into us and sending us spinning, I like the certainty of these day to day things – sunrise, seagulls shouting, dust trucks beeping, my alarm of songbirds going off