Hypocrisy. March 2014.

Dear Rowley,

Due to ‘the Troubles’ I have had the opportunity to watch George Osborne deliver the 2014 Budget. Naturally I’d rather be watching a DVD of Brigadoon but one does need to keep an eye on what our elected members are doing on our behalf to make life sweeter. I would say words fail me but it wouldn’t be worth the price of a 1st class stamp if that was the case.

Point one: the Coalition front bench look like the cast of Benidorm. I’ve never seen such health tans in all of my life while I am slumped on a daybed in Bloomsbury Towers as white as Wednesday Addams having not seen foreign sun for years. I’d like to think it was Fake Bake but we all know the millionaire boys club that we have elected to govern us are no strangers to Heathrow Terminal 5. What a pack of well-groomed, personally-trained show ponies.

I don’t think Mr Osborne realises that the figures he is discussing – in multiples of billions – means sweet Fanny Adams to the decent working British citizen. We work in hundreds and thousands (the currency not the Mary Berry ingredient) not the millions they inherit or the billions they are playing with as if tax payers’ money is a game of Monopoly. 

Cameron is nodding like the bulldog in the Churchill advertisement. Osborne is blushing like a principal boy in a provincial pantomime. There’s a bloke with a centre parting who looks like Fat Fighters’ answer to Nigel Havers and Nick Clegg is sweating like a rapist. Vine Cable should be playing Ludo in an old people’s home not pissing from inside the tent as has been the case since the Coalition formed its unholy alliance.

Isn’t it a thrill that we’re getting a new £1 coin. That’s just what the UK needs…almost as much as we need to be paying in to African Dictators’ slush funds and buying President’s wife First Lady Mrs Wonga Dot Com to shop at Vuitton on Bond Street on the tax payers’ buck. By the by, has Osborne been at the Grecian 2000? Maybe it is a weave…

Having been unwell of late and unable to lift a fountain pen to earn an honest crust, I am ambivalent about welfare caps. I would no sooner take welfare other than the NHS than I would paint my bottom blue and streak down Jermyn Street waving a red flag. True Brits do not take the piss out of the welfare system. Oh, and did you hear that millionaire actually say ‘we are all in this together?’ I am surprised his papers didn’t leap out of his hands in flames.

As for ‘tough new tax avoidance schemes’ and small minorities of billionaires dodging tax, may I be allowed to borrow an abbreviation from da kids? Lololololol. If you didn’t laugh you would cry. The entire British economy and tax system is geared to allow the fat cats to keep the cream. Big business will always go directly to the VIP lounge of life while the British hard working task force will struggle and queue for economy. And for what? Zero pensions, working until we’re 95 and never owning a brick of a property. Perhaps my anger management course is long overdue.

Oh Shit! Now he’s played the Help For Heroes card. Our armed forces are the real squeezed middle. Regiments have been amalgamated to the point that we don’t really have an army any more, our navy is little more than Tugboat Annie and our RAF is given planes to fly made out of bolser wood. And still Cameron waggles his willy and poses selfies on Twitter looking cross about Putin’s invasion of the Ukraine.

The in-jokes are sickening and irrelevant to the British public. What happens now in the Palace of Westminster is little more than the bullying and buggering that doubtless happened in the public schools that made the fine figures of gentlemen now in power vis-a-vis Eton, Westminster and St Paul’s. Mind you, Theresa May is wearing a lovely batik scarf today: always jazzes up a dowdy frock don’t you find?

Now we’re on the race card. We’ll now be taxed equally to fly to Macau via Liverpool as we would to fly to Vegas via Gatwick. I know which one I’d choose and no mistake. As a brief aside, Eric Pickles is now so obese that you half expect to see Carrie Fisher chained to him wearing a gold bikini. Osborne is now crapping on about Britain being better together. Tell that to Mary Queen of Scots and we all know what happened after that unfortunate incident.

And now we turn to ‘Help To Buy’. Where is it? End of story. The ladies on the Labour front bench are fiddling with their appliances and dressed like a bag of knitting. Chapeaux to La Farmer for that one. £200 million for potholes? How about £200 million saved by tearing down all of those fecking useless wind farms that blight the British landscape? As for apprenticeships, you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make them drink. Most yoof want to be a member of One Direction or One Erecti0n as they are known amongst disappointed fans.

Osborne is taking white noise from here on in. He’ll tax the cigarettes that shear billions off the pensions budget, tax the booze that stops us all slashing our wrists that we don’t have a single decent politician fighting our corner and up’s the ISA rate when nobody can save a penny because we are being screwed by the government like an abductee in Old Mary’s Tart Shop in downtown Kowloon.

As Nan Taylor would say, ‘What a load of old s****’.