‘Mortgages”, at the turn of this century, used to be a byword for the most boring conversations on earth. That’s how you measured whether or not you’d got old and lost your vim and rebellion: did you, or did you not, spend Saturday night at a dinner party, talking about interest rates?
Now, everyone is talking about mortgages, and these conversations are wild. They’ve got pace, they’ve got pathos, they’ve got suspense and dread, they’ve got a heap of intergenerational struggle. It’s like Chekhov with decimals.
