With the Tories letting us poor-bums revel in the extensive happiness only barely cheaper beer and bingo can bring, I’ve decided to return the favour and help them out! It’s a fact that I am a very helpful lady-ape (a fact people stubbornly refuse to acknowledge with the regularity I demand), so I have compiled a list of MORE things we scrubulous gutter-scroungers partake in when we aren’t working away each day of our lives for the pittance a lubricantly rich psychopath occasionally tosses in our direction. I can only hope they take it into consideration next time they attempt to help “hardworking people do more of the things they enjoy”. I imagine George Osborne will want to thank me, and I ready myself to accept his offers of foot massages and amusing animal impressions with grace.
Constant Low Level Anxiety
Can you hear that odd, persistent hum around anywhere that isn’t the Conservative Party’s Front Bench? Have you noticed that referring to a group of people’s Front Bench suggests you are alluding to their genitals? “PHWOAR! Cameron! I’d like to sit on your Front Bench!” and so on? ANYWAY. That hum is the sound of money worries, the funnest worry of all. Like any savanna-inhabiting gazelle suffering with a dodgy knee and a bad case of The Lions, the majority of people now get to exist in a permanent sense of unease. In terms of a hobby, it’s great. You can commit to it, it’s compulsive, it can even keep you up at night with excitement! Sickening, brain squelching, stomach destroying excitement. Yo, Tories! Get a tax break on PERPETUAL CONCERN, why don’t you? We’d be quids in!
Who needs real holidays when you can pretend to go on one, using only THE POWER OF YOUR BRAIN. No longer will you have to shout “Well you can’t go you SMUG FUCK!” at the “I want to go to… Venice!” Trivago adverts, because you’ll have a new travel-based pursuit! You can even make that made-up trip around the beautiful surroundings of Asia more interesting by pretending you would assume the form of a bear and ride the local elephants in full military regalia, singing powerfully. These holiday-imaginings can go along side “dreams of a fulfilling career” and “thoughts of being able to afford new shoes or at the very least new heels for your old shoes”.
You hear that cry from the 99% demanding greater equality? That’s right, we’re at it again! Envying you guys your wealth! We know it’s wrong, more wrong than hording all the gold like some stinking conglomerate of pale, overweight dragons or taking advantage of global poverty to increase your profit margins, but we just can’t help ourselves. “Please don’t make us pay for healthcare”, we bleat, enviously. “Can you maybe give us a pay rise once you’ve stopped bathing in champagne” we moan, green-eyed. It’s not the most noble of pursuits, perhaps, but you can allow us this little pleasure old Etonians. You do have the rest of them, after all.
Games at the Supermarket
“What dinner can I create that’s under £1.75?” is one such game, as is “oh, I can’t afford fruit, what biscuits are on offer?” and, a personal favourite, “lets look at the types of cheese I’ll be able to buy in a few years”. There is ENDLESS fun to be had in a supermarket the week before payday. Skipping down the aisles, wondering whether you should buy the meat from the Very Unhappy Pig Company or just give it up all together, thinking up ever more creative things to do with pasta; one could argue that food shopping when you are poor is has more pleasures than any trip on a oligarch’s celebration boat could bring. Not being able to afford a haircut and wearing clothes that are 4 years old, bought in the heyday of university carelessness, means you can also hide behind promotion stands and jump out of unsuspecting passers by with a banshee howl for an extra squeeze of joy.
Lonely Indoors Drinking
Now, the rich may enjoy cocaine inhaled from the buttocks of very rare tigers, but we too know how to have a good time that doesn’t revolve around drinking beer down our “local” “pub” (that’s skint person vernacular there, George). I mean, sure! It still revolves around drinking, but there is a rainbow-like array of thought dimmers and liver-eaters out there! Why stop at weak and watery beer when you could slash the prices of 1.5 liter bottles of potato-mulch essence and make those Friday nights in really sparkle! What could be better than realising you can’t afford to step a foot outside your front door and getting slowly and depressingly drunk by yourself, watching some congested horror of an Oxford graduate dreamed up for the benefit of the masses on TV, as it slowly dawns on you that you are literally anaesthetising yourself from what’s meant to be your LEISURE TIME. Nothing could be better than that. LET’S PARTY (alone).
Posted by Holly