Poetic fragments for budget-friendly rebellion and rhythm-led defiance

We won’t play the housing market.
We’ll play cards in a van.
No mortgage stress, just the occasional leak
and a shared sense of rebellion.

The van is a refusal.
A soft “no thanks”
to inflated rent,
to the council tax,
to the myth that stability must be stationary.

We’ll opt out of the spreadsheet life.
We’ll choose moss over metrics.
We’ll say, “We live here now,”
and mean it emotionally, financially, ceremonially.

No more chasing square footage.
No more paying for rooms we don’t cry in.
Just the kind of intimacy
that fits in three metres
and costs less than a weekend in Edinburgh.

The van becomes a protest.
Not loud. Not angry.
Just firm.
Just funny.
Just us, refusing to trade joy
for direct debits.

And when someone asks,
“Isn’t that a bit unconventional?”
we’ll smile,
gesture to the compost bin,
and say,
“Exactly.”

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