Face it, the last thing that the elder generation truly needs is more money. They can focus on past glories to keep them warm and fed and watered. What use is a roof over your head when all you really need to do is to bask in the fact that you and your peers (regardless of whether or not you actually indulged in higher education) got to go to university for free? They even paid you to go!
So this is something of a Robin Hood situation. Con folk are pilfering money from pension pots in order to hand it over to the more deserving. They can lift the youth out of poverty in just a few clicks of a keyboard. It’s a kindness really, why would the older people want to stick around on the mortal coil when all they see is the suffering of the generations below them?
Then again, young people today are so entitled. They think that they’ve done anything whatsoever to deserve affordable housing and secure employment. Clearly they shouldn’t be entrusted with anything as fundamental as money. But what to do with the purloined pension pennies? If you’ve taken them from those who shouldn’t have had them in the first place and are then confronted with firm evidence that the intended recipients aren’t worthy either it puts a con artist in something of a dilemma.
Maybe the money can be put to good use for all of society. Funnelled into a well-meaning charity or something similar with a clear vision of how to right some of the ills of modern civilisation. It’s a very important thing to think about. Perhaps it’s best to mull over the notions of what one ought to do with stolen funds by taking some time out in the Bahamas. With many lurid cocktails.
I can’t help but feel that cutting stamp duty is this government’s answer to pretty much everything. Sure, they’ve only done it the once but it’s definitely there in their bag of economical tricks. If only we can get more people buying houses it will fix absolutely everything. Even though, in the grand scheme of things I don’t think that stamp duty really figures too strongly in people’s deposit calculations. Or maybe I’m saying that with my privileged white lady goggles on.
However, I don’t really see how measures to boost the housing market will really affect the situation with the railways in any way, shape or form. Unless people will be so delighted with a home of their very own that they’ll no longer feel the need to leave it in order to go to work (forgetting about that pesky crippling mortgage they’re now obliged to pay back over time). I can’t help but think it’s something of a hand-waving distraction but maybe I’m just being cynical.
Then again, we don’t know how far reaching and all encompassing the manifest benefits of tax cuts can be. Look at the newly Utopian USA, revelling in the glory of hedonistic tax slashing (and that was only for the higher echelons. Imagine how much better everything would be if lower and middle incomes had been similarly blessed). We clearly haven’t given tax cuts enough of a chance.
I should eschew my dearly held leftist ideals and get on board with the populist bandwagon. It would mean more money in my back pocket, which is obviously the goal that every man and woman should have in life. I’m sure I’ll be able to keep thinking that way when education, infrastructure and all the other sexy former prospects for governmental investment crumble into nothingness. It’ll be grand.
This is one of the instances in life when I really do think that all concerned would feel a whole lot better if they decided to take things literally. People rightly have suspicions that any semblance of governmental harmony is straining at the seams. This is what happens when you play an internal party argument out on the national stage. We’re an inch or two away from a full-blown guns blazing no prisoners taken Cabinet war.
But just think about how much more satisfying it would be if it was proper warfare. The daring kind with actual consequences rather than this endless sniping back and forth via the media. May would leap up onto a table with shotgun in hand, ready to rally the few remaining troops who actually recognise her leadership. She’s got her foes of course. The good news for her is that they’re a band of disparate splinter groups.
The main chap, the one who sees himself as a commanding general of the days of yore, is one insufferably smug Jacob Rees-Mogg. He’s got eager acolytes allied to his cause but when the shit hits the fan, the chips are down and the bullets are flying, are they really going stand true to the pretender to the throne? But of course, the honourable or otherwise member for the 1800s isn’t the only one battling the PM for dominance.
As usual, Boris is there. With a bandana wrapped around a ridiculous expression, he’s waving an oversized weapon around as if he’s compensating for something or other. And Gove is still creeping about with a pea-shooter. I’m sure there are others out there making up their own eager armies of one, poised to join the fray. It would be an apocalyptic shootout but there would definitely be a certain level of catharsis for whoever survived, don’t you think?
My oh my. She’s gone from an evening of bunking off to straight up super-villainy. Rightly or wrongly, she’s identified the opposition leader as the most credible threat to her position (her judgement is almost definitely off. The events of this week have shown that there’s a depressingly populist successor waiting in the wings, impatiently tapping at his watch to hurry up his warm up act. And there are one or two others who clearly wouldn’t mind a shot at the crown).
But Theresa’s chosen to zero in on Corbyn. He’s proven to be surprisingly effective at enthusing the young people and alienating the old guard. There’s those who love him, loathe him and folk like me who are somewhere in between not quite feeling the joy and therefore he’s definitely a Jeremy who must be stopped at most reasonable though not all costs.
I suppose she’s got her reasons. They probably even make some level of sense to her. It’s easy to imagine that our Prime Minister considers herself to be in something of an impossible position. She’s got all manner of options, of course, it’s just that she doesn’t particularly fancy any of them. Instead, she’d much rather plot increasingly cartoonish schemes to do away with her pesky Labour counterpart.
Falling on her own sword is quite certainly utterly out of the question. She could scrape together the remaining fragments of political capital she has left in order to subvert the dubious will of the people and reverse Brexit. Maybe. It’s not like she’ll still be in place come the next General Election anyway. Would it really kill her to retrieve her principles from whatever cupboard she’s stashed them in so that she can save the country from its worst instincts in flushing all its prospects down the toilet. Instead she’s painting tunnels on the sides of walls and that sort of thing. Sigh.
It’s been a busy old week for Theresa. Probably. There’s always stuff going on when you’re in charge of a country. At least it’s cooled down a bit. Just in terms of weather, obviously. Her seat is continually hot because, well, have you been reading the headlines lately?
Even today we’re supposed to celebrate the fact that the economy grew by a whole less than half a per cent over the past few months (that’s double what was achieved in the same period last year. Happy days are here to stay). So, as long as we can have another spate of glorious barbecue weather, a royal wedding (even little old anti-monarchist me can admit to the fact that they do play a role in bringing in the tourists and that) and preferably a World Cup, we’ll be alright. As long as we can forget the fact that many high-street shops are heading down the toilet and various other ominous signs.
And then we get to the whole Boris of the matter (I don’t want to talk about him either. It’s what he wants and only makes his power grow). Many prominent public figures, political and otherwise, have come forth to give their opinions on the matter. It was offensive. It was just employing humour to spark debate on an important issue. It was racist dog-whistling transparently targeting people with far-right ideals and wasn’t at all influenced by a recent meeting with Steve Bannon. Who will ever be able to unweave this gloriously complex tapestry?
So Theresa’s clocking off early this Friday. She’s on holiday after all, why shouldn’t she kick back in her sensible kitten heels? People have been taking the piss out of her obsequious curtseying (it’s bloody ridiculous but whatever) and she’s decided that she’s going to ignore the rest of the world and have a curry instead.
I know. I really do. Everyone is sick to their back teeth of the grim reality that Brexit is continually visiting upon us (wouldn’t it be lovely if it just went away? Yeah, I’m a dreamer. What are you going to do about it?). But this really is the sort of thing we ought to paying attention to.
The value of our currency plummets as prices spike and these are the sorts of things that affect the people of our country. Boris, in his exhausting way, is doing all he can to hijack headlines and the national conversation. And we’re letting him do it. For woolly liberals like me, we can get outraged that he’d reduce fellow human beings to the status of letterboxes.
It’s easy to point out that dehumanising language, like, totally isn’t on. Then we get distracted by trying to sort out our complicated feelings regarding the rights of women and whether face veils represent repression or empowerment. See? He’s doing it again. It’s easier for me to proclaim from my ivory tower what certain matters mean and how they should be changed forever. Lending autonomy to women shouldn’t be a radical proposition.
But it’s not the most pressing issue of the day, sadly. Boris will always have his ardent defenders for reasons which are very far beyond me. The rights of white men with funny hair to say whatever offensive things comes into their heads are so much less important than the frantic freight train of weapons grade frightfulness bearing down on us all is a bit more important when it comes to the future of our country. The government has plunged us into all this uncertainty but all they can do today is argue back and forth whether or not a back bencher should apologise for some racist bullshit (he should, obviously but let’s please stop talking about it).
Oh great, Boris Johnson has elbowed his way to the forefront of public consciousness by saying something flamboyantly offensive and then refused to back down from his crackpot soapbox. Again. Why do people keep giving this hairball with an enduring sense of entitlement a platform?
It’s beyond tiring to keep seeing these blatant manoeuvres for power over and again. I’m tempted to say that we should just let him be Prime Minister for, like, a week. Let him sit behind the desk (does she have a desk? Is there a famous specific one or are they all pretty fancy in an indistinct way? Is my intensive lack of knowledge showing?) and cavort around Number 10 with a camera crew in tow. He can print up some business cards and give an eloquently nonsensical speech. And then he can get booted out and never heard from ever again (please, Thor, I’m begging you).
What he has done this time (because it’s important to not let this hate filled tosh slip through the net) is said some pretty offensive stuff about women who wear face veils, describing them as looking like letterboxes and bank robbers. Apparently, that crap was an effort to start a debate about whether or not women should be wearing them at all.
And what I say to that to Mr Johnson (because he’s definitely reading, narcissist) is that it’s not his concern. This is not a fight he deserves to be anywhere near. At the end of the day, women should be allowed to wear whatever they want but obviously this issue has deep roots and it’s always a lot more complicated than stark catch-all statements. Whether he wants to stare at a pretty face or feels that he has the authority to tell a woman how she should appear in front of him, it’s irrelevant. Boris is a pandering git punching down and deserves none of our attention. Which is why I’ve been droning on about him for over three hundred words.