A very big house

When I was a young Marvo, my dad rented a house. This is because we didn't get lots of money. Then, eventually, when he was lucky and got a better job, he bought a house. We called it home. The idea of buying this house was so Dad could do stuff with it, like build bits and put in things he wanted. Eventually he sold it and retired because he was getting old, and he made a few bob on it, because of inflation, and he bought a smaller one way down west, and had a few bob left to spend.

I told Dad that if he scrimped and saved any money he had so he could leave it to me when he died, that I would give it to a cats' home. So he spent it on things he wanted, which no doubt the other Marvos will argue about when he's gone. I don't give a stuff.

I have heard, more and more, people referring to their home as a "property". It's not. It's home. It's where you live. Any other use of a house is just one more road to hell, in a handcart.

"Has Marvo gone mad?" I hear you ask?

Now, I'm reading you bloggers, I'm agreeing with a lot of what you say. I'm disagreeing with some of it too. Now it's your turn to disagree with me. I know you will. I know what you'll say. You'll say "Hold on, I've worked for my house. Why should I let it go when other people didn't work for one?"

Welcome to religion.

Anyone got the balls to argue?