The Shed

 

I've often wondered what it would be like to be that selfish, to act like I'm the only person who matters, to behave without a single thought for anyone else, to grab the sparkliest spangly thing, to take the biggest slice of cake, to constantly interrupt and ignore the other persons point of view. It must be bloody great to be King of all you survey, Emperor of your own Universe, Lord of Sod-hall, to walk down the high-street like you own the pavement; to talk loudly on the mobile since my conversation is the most important in the whole world; to park in the disabled bay not because I have a permit, but because I can and it's nearest to the store; to barge my way through life because I have a chip on my shoulder and plenty more where that came from, (after all, I never asked to be born and the world owes me a living). To be able to behave as I like, when I like; to be able to take a five-finger discount on any item I choose; to be able to intimidate and harass people just because I have fine collection of gauche jewelry from the Argos catalogue and can wear it all at once; to be able to show off my Primark-clad pregnant girlfriend because Jordon is her role-model and I have aspirations of being the next Peter Andre; to be able to make my point clearly and succinctly in monosyllabic grunts and hand gestures knowing that if that fails the threat of violence will get me what I want when I want it and at a reasonable price.

 

Oh to be a moron for a day.

 

I have a friend, who was the manager of a Youth Hostel for 13 years before she took maternity leave, and decided not to come back.  Her and her partner had saved up a sizeable deposit for a house, but because of the crazy house prices in the UK, couldn't afford to buy; now they can't get a mortgage.  But, because they have this deposit, they get no benefits for her having stopped work, as they have too much in the way of savings.  If they'd had been less responsible, and used the money on expensive holidays, then they'd now be eligible for sufficient benefits for Caroline not to work.  Consequently, Caroline has to return to work very soon, whereas those on benefits won't be pressurised to do so until the youngest child is 12...that could easily be in 20 years time, when they will have no relevant workplace skills...

 

(don't get me wrong, I'm not advocating Eugenics or anything...)

 

that, I somehow find hard to believe...

 you are probably right Jared, I have little doubt that moving from an Essex sink estate to a small village in North Bedfordshire when I was 9 was that one lucky break that made the huge difference to my life, and may be I would have risen above that background without moving, but who knows for sure.

 

And yes, Rach the 80s were dire, horrible times - interest rates at 14%, most of my salary swallowed by the mortgage, living on cheap-cuts and a mainly vegetable diet - and no cash to spare on luxuries like albums and gigs.

 

Enough "it's grim down south" talk - the kettle's on and there are fresh packets of hobnobs and custard creams in the biscuit tin.