The gloves are off. The money men (mostly) are in the counting house, counting their money. Except it’s your money. They forget that. Even Princely Philip forgets that he too has a sponge to live off. A Victoria sponge perhaps but still a sponge.
Take a peak in the kitchens of Westminster. They’re cooking your goose. Every day is Christmas. But the pork gets the crackling and the turkeys think it’s you who are stupid.
Hard working people, you are the ones they say they are rewarding. You are the salt of the earth. You’re all in the same boat and you have the oars in your sweaty palms and the blisters on your backsides to prove it. You’re in control, don’t you know.
But your “living wage” is not enough for the coffers – yours or theirs – and they say you earn too much to merit more sponge. They’re backing you into a corner and the under 25’s are already under a bridge.
Thank the Lord for the charities or we’d all have to take responsibility. St Mungos, St Martins, Samaritans and friends, for whom the bell tolls every night of the week.
So, salt of the earth, they will not let you eat cake. Instead you will have tax credits for only two children, because to have any more is negligent – unless you are very wealthy when it is a sign you can afford to holiday in Cornwall and have a nanny. Only the ‘hard working people’ holiday abroad.
And heaven help you if you need the NHS because the elephant has left the room. The ambulances wait in vain at the gates. Up to 12 hours sometimes. The statistics tell us so.
The GPs are fussing about unreasonable demands for a 7-day practice but expect someone to pilot the plane on the weekend when they fly off to an exotic destination that has no health service at all.
Meanwhile the emperor with a small ‘e’ in Westminster gets a new suit of clothes and parades his naked insincerity.
Border Lines 