I can moan all I want to about the assault on my senses of living where I do along where the never ending sense of uncertainty of wondering what I'll find every evening when I return home, and I do with zeal. Ask anyone who knows me.

And then I read of the thirty three Chilean miners found alive two weeks after a huge rockfall. Alive, all of them. and waiting for possibly another three months, perhaps four before a rescue tunnel can be dug to reach them. Underground for four months, and I fret about a TV droning through the ceiling...

A lesson in priorities