8. 8th January 2025. I'm wide awake, it's morning

 It's 9.45am. I've been up for basically forever but I'm still in a dressing gown, getting ready for the idea of getting ready. 

Woke up at 5. By 5.30 I'd decide I was wide awake bastard wake and getting up was the only viable option. My mind was racing with what was wrong with the first act synopsisI'd spent the last two days writing and how to put it right. By 6 I was downstairs writing. Couldn't work in the study; it's the coldest room on the planet (a remnant of having the old garage converted by cowboys) so, until warmth entered the world, it was the dining table with the MacBook. First world issues.

Wrote till 8.20, rejigged the structure of everything I already had, put back in some stuff from an earlier draft that I'd taken out. I'm now back to where I was at 6pm yesterday but curiously tired. I've got that airport feeling - up at the wrong time, breakfast at the wrong time, coffee at the wrong time. But the work's gone well. And will continue later, post meeting BM for (more) coffee. 

Then sat down and deactivated Twitter. 

It was the Elon Musk buying Liverpool (he's not) story that did it for me. Or more specifically the remarks and replies that surrounded the story, the 'fans' that complained that the locals were complaining about a 'proper owner' perhaps coming in who would 'run us like a proper club' (like he does twitter). And I had enough. 

The inevitable peril of being globally successful is that your fanbase becomes global. That the majority of people who follow your team have no connection to the place the team calls home. They're an entertainment. Which is unavoidable but uncomfortable at times. There's a level of accepted hypocrisy here; the owners are American, the manager's Dutch, the players Egyptian, French, Argentine, Dutch, Uruguayan, Portuguese and on and on. The number of locals involved ins the playing staff is minimal but we still insist that the identity is ours, the team is in the city, the team represents the city, represents the politics of the city - broadly to the left of Labour, we're a city that largely embraced Corbyn and distrust the current Prime Minister for his decision to ally himself with a certain rag that we've been boycotting for the last 36 years. 

We don't believe you can be a Tory and support our club, not after the eighties. If you're a Tory, you tacitly accept the behaviours of Thatcher's government. Some don't get this. Some claim we should keep politics out of football; we maintain that 'they' put the politics into it a long time ago, all we're doing is fighting back. 

Musk buying LFC? Unconscionable. The man who's done more than any other in recent years to facilitate the rise of the far right? A man in bed with Trump? And all the other points I made about him yesterday? I couldn't accept it (I don't see a world where FSG would sell to him anyway, more fuel for the FSGOUT lads). BUT.

I don't want their opinions in my life. I don't want a platform that places the opinions of the right wing, of racists, of bigots, in my life. I wouldn't encounter these people in the real world, wouldn't be in any place that legitimised their voices. So I'm out.

It's quite sad. Twitter as was gave me the chance to spread my blog to an audience, gave me somewhere to share details of my work, to let people know what was happening with what I was creating. 

But it's not that place any longer. So, as I said, I'm out.

And that's here we are this second Wednesday in 2025.