That an Englishman’s (or lady’s, I’m sure it’s appeared somewhere in the statute books that we actually are allowed to own property. I’m not entirely sure where and I really ought to stop drawing attention to this liberty or the chaps might start trying to curb it once more) home is his castle is a bit of a lie. Come on, the bank owns over three quarters of it, it’s falling to pieces and the only situation in which anyone would be interested in having it off you would be if you were giving it away for free.
Sorry to kick things off on such a low note but I’m sure that you will have realised we are no longer a society of independent landowners. Those who manage to scrape together the funds sufficient to buy the most run down clanker of a property without plunging into debt are the lucky ones. For the rest of the generation, home ownership remains a pipe dream as rents soar to never before seen heights.
And yet the banks are continuing to crack down. They don’t want anyone else to have the precious funds. Especially not for such frivolous purchases as property. No one should be allowed to build either, folk are dreaming far too big already and must be quashed, ground down into the dust so they won’t even think about trying to get up ever again.
For example, a certain person wanted to build their own home. They’d spied a plot of land and started piecing the plans together. Soon, in their mind’s eye, a glorious Roma gypsy palace was shining away. The lavish details kept piling but thanks to sharp budgeting and a keen financial mind the sums didn’t run away with anyone. However, the bank rejected the proposition before you could say ‘this is grossly unfair and I’m telling my mummy on you.’ But such is life.