Bundled around a pile of burning broken furniture in the middle of your living room as you watch the latest budget presentation from the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Rishi Sunack, you throw some cherished books on the fire to keep things going. Today, you ate some mouldy bread and a grape. Gripped by hunger and poverty thanks to the massive tax increases from the Chancellor, you had to abandon your car last week as fuel prices are now so high that filling your gas tank is reminiscent of taking out a second mortgage. Ah, the subject of mortgages. Interest rates rose thanks to the insane policies of the BoE and this means mortgage payments as well as credit card charges rose as well, rendering any little money you had left in your raided pension as lost to the ether of imbecility. The council tax bill flops on the floor alongside the water rates, the electric, the gas, the BBC tax and all the other bills that exist. Ah, council tax is up another 350% from last year. Throw that on the fucking fire as well.
Towards the end of the freezing evening, the last embers of the fire that has consumed your last chair glows orange. It is time to retire to your arctic bedroom with your freezing moaning wife. Our dead cat that passed away last week from starvation and cold is still resting in eternal peace on the end of our bed. At least its fur may keep our feet from catching frostbite in the night.
Drifting to sleep, one can only dream of massive levels of quantitive easing. Those were the days eh, the stock market was shooting up irrespective of anything and free money was being thrown around like confetti. Shops were giving away fridges, tellies and food was plentiful. Zero percent interest on everything. Hope I don’t wake up tomorrow morning. Reality will truly be insufferable.
