“I’d just like to say how proud I am to become one of the two million.” Jobs, jobs everywhere and not a drop to drink. It seems a degree is worth less than GCSEs and a few shiny chest hairs, more so every year. The only selling point for employers is previous experience in exactly the same position they are hiring for, as well as some pristine kind of magic only natural extroverts, or ‘winners’ possess. Training is time-consuming, people are expendable. We’re being made to face it; there are far more people in the country than there are jobs, and it’s much more competitive than it has been so far in my lifetime, including the lows of the late nineties. We are very much back in a rat race whether we covet fast cars and cocaine or a humble veggie patch of our own. We struggle, we eat badly, sleep little, drink and smoke the worries away and drink and smoke our way back to the beginning of the cycle. Bank accounts of borrowed, imaginary money.
Here are a few things the government can address in a holistic (efficient) approach to healing our nation, which despite their best attempts at sweeping things under the carpet happens to be made up of people they disapprove of, but ultimately have to deal with if they don’t want to go down under fire and pitchfork.
Address the working class. Not ‘Oh hello there, young sir.’ I’m talking about spending some time outside the bubble of London that seems to be a perfectly controlled microcosm of mirth and grime that convinces itself it is a balanced representation of the best and worst aspects of British society, and so its inhabitants have seen it all, and could handle anything. I’m telling you, you couldn’t handle the York public. Not every day. Not on minimum wage. Not on depleting depressing hours in a dark building, watching Summer come and go outdoors while you’re confronted about ticket prices that rise every month and the identity of ice cream toppings. “Yes, they are nuts. I promise.”
They can intercept the greediness of companies like Vue who are going down the pan at least on the inside because they have such a lack of respect and understanding of staff satisfaction. Essentially, the company I work for have very little interest in films and people. Kind of a starting point for a major British cinema franchise, one might think.
They can fine people who don’t flush public toilets, or wash their hands afterwards. They can fine parents who let their children throw sweets and crumbly second-rate, overpriced popcorn over an entire auditorium without batting an eyelid. They can instate Supernannies in all households where it is clearly needed. Fuck being P.C.
How about it Dave, Nick, I’ll give you my two guest tickets for this week and you can sample the atmosphere. Come and give it a go and see if you still think foxes are our biggest problem.
You want to look good, and you want it now. The fact is, you can’t just wipe down the chopping board and start again. There is a reason we haven’t achieved perfection in the thousands of years we’ve been here. Instant pleasure, here for, we are not.
The graduates of 2008 and around, and from then on for sure, from before for maybe, are going to die out. We have nothing going for us except the last string of hope that our loved ones have to pump back into us repeatedly on days when we just need baths and hibernation because it’s simply all too depressing. Humans are a dying race, because there are a few of them who like to think they own the planet, or at least the ‘most important’ parts of it, who are keeping us at bay with secret languages and locked doors, throwing up shotguns in the path when they realise they haven’t thought of everything. Here it is – you are killing yourselves off. You may think us state school products are disposable, but when they’re all gone, the food chain will adjust. And it picks up speed when there’s less substance in the way. There’s a reason you don’t see any royals on Q.I.