honestlyreal

Fate, and the vermin who buy and sell marketing lists, have a strange way of mocking. When money’s never been tighter, my name and address seem to have been tagged with the hilariously inaccurate description: “high net worth, definitely a target for personal wealth management services”.

And as a result, what deep joy the postman brought me recently!

Imagine my delight, Trevor Downing–yes, you Trevor Downing, of the Trevor Downing Wealth Management Practice, Market Square, Westerham TN16 1BR–when the following little cartoon dropped out of the envelope.

You might, possibly, have sent that to the wrong person, Trev.

I know there are retired Colonels up and down the South East who’ll be clutching their highly-decorated boners under their dressing gowns at the sight of such anti-tax grot–their gnarled old hands frantically squeezing a last drop of life from the old soldier, spurred on by the prospect of keeping the Chancellor’s filthy mitts off what’s left of their Service pension.

But.

It might strike you, as it did me, that there’s something pretty horrible about marketing your services like this.

Or like this.

Look at her, up there on her nice white fluffy cloud. Nice, white-haired, white Mrs Hayward. Managed to “structure” things so that she won the game: maximum kudos for exiting with that marvellous sign-off “TAX PAID ZERO”. How those heavenly trumpets must have welcomed her!

I know. Of course I do. It’s all perfectly legal; it’s just making sure the right amount is paid… yeah yeah yeah. But it’s not about that, is it? It’s about an attitude. The attitude that says it’s absolutely fine to fuck around and fiddle with every last shareholding–to make the cat a director of your non-existent-trading-entity if it makes the most of some allowance somewhere. I do know someone rich who puts their pet dogs down on their tax return as “guard dogs”, for fuck’s sake. Really.

That attitude. The one that crows merrily about how having 500k liquid is an inherited (often literally) right, and there’s no bloody way that any of that is going on stuff for the poor. Coz they’ll only waste it.

The attitude that scours a workforce of tens of millions of public sector workers to find the handful of egregious examples that they can then spatter over the papers to make Mrs Hayward and Colonel Cunt (Retd) feel that much more justified about their little visit to see Mr Downing.

And this:

Yeah. They won too. More entitled white arseholes sitting on some massive fucking white golf club sofa in the sky. Well done. Big whoop.

Ah, Mr Sensible. Mr Selfish Shithead Sodding Sensible. You didn’t need that NHS ambulance when you tripped on your cliff-top walk with the Crown Green Bowlers, now did you? Nah, that stuff happens to other people, doesn’t it? You don’t need streetlights. Not where you live. Nor state education, nor environmental health protection (Mr S eats in nice places). Mental health services (are you crazy)? Income support? Disability benefit? Winter fuel? No. NO. NO!

That’s all for other people, isn’t it? Trevor’ll help you keep it that way, too.

You just carry on clinging on to your selfish, misanthropic, lazy sack of comforting lies: the state’s a thief, “public”=”wasted”, the less you contribute the more you win, and anyone less fortunate than you can just crawl away and die.

Nice one, Trevor. Nice one, son.