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I’ve lost count of how many times ChatGPT has asked whether I’m safe or need to call the Samaritans. What it fails to understand is that, with unaffordable leasehold, you have to be in it for the long haul. Dark humour isn’t a farewell note. It’s my pressure valve. For the avoidance of doubt, I’m not going anywhere. This is about endurance, not surrender. I endure because things have to get better. Departing this planet over something as grubby and unworthy as a housing association would be the ultimate waste of future potential. They do not get to write the ending. But this is a desperate situation. Punishing, life-changing service charges becoming their new normal have steadily stripped away our financial security, while we continue to live under the threat of yet more major works, more demands and more bills we may have no realistic means of paying. Still, that little flame keeps going. And the knowledge that we have been so thoroughly fucked over - after what I regarded as grubby tactics, followed by what felt like a Muttley-style “gimme a medal” victory lap after the court case - has given me something else too: an appetite to keep fighting, documenting and exposing it. Management changes. Policies collapse. Institutions may outlive the people who made bad decisions, but not always their reputations. Their tenure will end before our resolve does. Hopefully. This post reflects my personal experience and opinion, based on the correspondence, proceedings and events I have witnessed.