As class war rumbles on in the letters pages of the Star the city itself is like a compass driven mad by a load of iron pyrites or other magnetic disturbance.
Its needle swings frantically in all directions from Castlegate to the New Retail Quarter from HS2 to Northern Powerhouse.
Sad times for the city and you feel your age and the weight of disillusionment on your shoulders.
For city read country.
I know I really ought to get out more.