Life and the Living of it.

Dear Dr Blog

Your erstwhile correspondent is struggling today on just about every level.  Black humour, a mainstay of my life since God was a boy, has deserted me.  So, once more I turn to you for healing.  The only weapons I have for attack and defence are words.  Words that:  wound  heal  destroy  re-build  clarify confuse.  With such words comes overwhelming power and raging impotence.  A malestrom making choice a terrifying adventure. 

I know what my words mean.  I say 'Yes' and this means I assent; I agree, I acknowledge the validity of your words.  I say 'No' and this means I do not assent; I do not agree, I do not acknowledge the validity of your words.  English is a beautifully crafted, cruel and tender language that can reduce giants to pygmies and elevate pygmies to kings. (I use the masculine for ease and not as a poke in the eye for political correctness).

The well of despair has issued another invitation and I battle to avoid it's embrace.  Taking stock:  that that was inevitable turns out to be just that - inevitable.  That that could not be avoided will not be avoided.  Facing up to reality is a painful process which causes even the hardest of hearts to wilt under its viewing.  When that heart is tender and afraid, well ...  much strength and courage is sought but not always found.

In our First Age we are offered a warm, rosy picture of the Third Age that will become our legacy.  To achieve this we are told that we should listen to our betters and elders; learn, train, study, strive, work hard, play little, save a lot, resist temptation and not indulge our weaknesses.   At school we do as we are told little knowing that someone with absolute control over your life can make decisions that condem you to a route you would not have chosen.  No matter.  Our elders and betters know best.  We must accept their widsom.  The die is cast and gratefully you accept the path now given to you.  But wait!  Just a minute!  Come the time for you to enter the Second Age you discover that the promises made to you in the First Age came with caveats that no-one ever told you about.  'Oh!' they laugh, 'Silly you! When we said study hard and get good marks, please your teachers and keep your nose clean and you will get a well paid job, we meant to add the word "maybe"  Tsk Tsk! Now! Who forgot to mention the "maybe" word?  No harm done!'

You enter the Second Age carrying no fomal qualifications worthy of note and take the first paid employment offered to you.  You are not ashamed.  In fact you are quite proud that someone actually wants to employ you.  Not a total waste of space then!  Ah, but another little suprise is hiding in the undergrowth.  Your 'family' want recompense for the monies spent raising you to the grand age of 15 so take £3.00 of the £3.10s.0d you earn each week in exchange for cold teas and half a bed.  Not to worry!  You have ambition?  Great stuff?  Want to get out of the factory?  Go into service! Much more comfortable and no keep to pay, they actually pay you!  You start work at 6.00 am, cook for a family of four, clean a three storey house and look after two little boys.  And then they just add the few little extras to your duties as the seasons progress.  A little painting here, a little sanding there. Whilst you are waiting for the food to cook just pop into the garden and hand weed the vegetables.  Oh! and after you have put the children to bed make a start on the dressing and cleaning of the game in the utility room shot today.  Last rabbit cleaned at midnight.  Time for bed.   You wonder if there is a better way of earning your corn. 

The siren voice of the Capital reaches you in a darkened jazz club carrying promises of fame and riches and you submit.  The journey through the Second Age continues with workacholism, 15 hour days, chronic poverty and payments into pension plans guarenteed to comfort you in the Third Age.  'Count on us!' the copy says; 'We'll look after the money that you can ill afford to pay in and you will be alright when you can no longer work!'  A warm autumn halo surrounds the older vision of you as you contemplate the rewards of your hard work and thrift.

Ah!  But's what's this!!!  You are standing in the doorway ready to step, too early, into the golden age of retirement because your shrinking frame can no longer take the strain of 45 year's worth of work.  'Not to worry' you tell yourself:  you made provision for just such an event.  Except.  Except that the Faceless Ones, acknowledging too late they didn't study enough during their maths lessons, suddenly realise they need your money more than you do.  So they use some words.  They write complicated words in a version of English that only they can understand and store them away until they are needed. 

'Hello Mr Pension Plan Man (aka: Mr Government Man) I'm too poorly to work anymore and I would like to take those pennies I paid in out so that I can heat my home and feed myself and buy my medicines please'.  Ah!  'Now then' replies Mr Pension Plan Man.  'Thing is you see; well you'll see the funny side of this I know!  But that money that you paid in all those years ago.  See.  We thought you wouldn't need it.  So, we, well, we kinda used it to build some Trident missiles in case we needed to bomb the shit out of some Country we are never likely to visit' vaguely pointing somewhere Eastwards.  'O.Kay' you say, 'but what about my state pension; you know the one I have been paying into for 45 years?  Can I have that now to help me keep warm, manage my medical condition and feed myself?'   'Oh!  Thought you'd not noticed that one.  Well, you know we sent you a forecast a year ago and, in recognition of your extended contributions, said we would pay you a whole £147.00 per week.  Well, it's not quite panned out as we'd forecast you see.  As well as the missiles and weapons and such like that we have had to buy to keep you safe from being blown to bits in the street, we have had to help some banker chaps and politicians who have come up against hard times.  Not their fault of course, these things happen dontcha know!  Market forces! Market forces!  But as they are the wealth providers and you have now become a wealth user, well, it makes sense Rodney don't it?  Got to look after the providers innit?  So.  To make it fair, what we will do is strip you of whatever dignity you may have retained over the years; examine, probe and means test you until your pips are visible.  Deny you your independence and pursue you to your grave for not understanding our version of the English Language.  Oh!  And another thing:  we forgot to mention, you know that forecast?  Well we've had a look at the figures again and find we need just a little more funding to help the undeserving.  So we have come up with this wonderful wheeze.  Instead of paying out to those of you with over 30 years worth of contributions, we will reduce the state pension to a fixed sum for everyone!  Now that's fair surely!  How about £140.00 per week for everybody whatever they have contributed?  Eh!  Sounds fair to me governor!  You don't agree?  Oh!  Pity!  Okay we will just have to revise the figure downwards then.  Shall we say £130.00 per week?'

And so dear reader, 'tis only words and words are all I have to take your breath away'.

This is England:  This is the West:  Don't get sick; don't get old, hide your money in your socks, fritter your lives away.  The next time some honeyed voice suggests you part with your hard earned pennies for a better future, just tell them to take a jump off Wigan Pier.

Love and Peace
THE Purple Fairy xxx