Imagine if you will, getting up one day to find you'd been burgled and everything of value you owned had been nicked. Worse still you hadn't got round to renewing the insurance leaving you seriously out of pocket. Still not to worry -you're a plucky, robust sort. Of course you'll need to cut back a bit, raid the savings and maybe holiday at home next year. Still you say to yourself it could be worse at least none of your family were hurt during the burglary. Gradually the house starts to feel like home again and though you're still angry about the burglary, you can think of it without foaming at the mouth.
Then one day a postcard arrives. It's from the thief. He just wants to let you know he booked himself an extended holiday with the proceeds of the burglary and wanted to tell you all about the great laughs he's been having at your expense. The next morning his wife drops you a line to tell you about the lovely kettle she bought with that money you'd foolishly left on the sideboard. And not a word of thanks between them.
You'd be hopping mad, homicidal, crazed with rage. Walls would be punched, cats would be kicked, appliances would be hurled from top floor windows -only you don't have any appliances because the bastard burglar knicked them all. You'd be bloody furious so much so that you really would see the red mist there before your very eyes.
Someone nicking your stuff is bad enough but nicking your stuff and laughing at you is maddening beyond belief. You'd feel you were being goaded, belittled, insulted. You'd say he's taking the piss and you'd be right.
The above just about sums up how I feel about the article I linked to in my last post written by Austin Mitchell MP . Not only has he robbed us with his extravagant expenses claims, he's popped along to The Guardian to tell us all just how bloody funny he thinks the whole thing is. And yes, his wife, his unelected wife is at the expenses as well, having just splashed out £75 for a kettle. Some bird who happens to live with a MP has spent £75 of our money, £10:70 more than a single unemployed person gets to live on in a week, on a wretched bloody kettle. A kettle.
Words fail me! I'm reduced to opening and shutting my mouth like a big purple faced fish. Talk about a brassneck. As if the article itself isn't offensive enough he's laughing in his byline photo. Laughing at us like a man with a fucking subsidised kettle.
From time to time I fill out Community Care Grant forms for my more impoverished clients to help them buy furniture and household goods. There are no £75 kettles for these folk. As the grants are drawn from a limited budget people are expected seek out the bargains so whilst you might want a £75 kettle, the decision maker will call you up establish that you own a pot and your hob works therefore you don't need a kettle. Fancy a fridge? Not if you have a windowsill to keep a pint of milk on and no essential medication that needs keeping cool. What about an oven? No -you own a perfectly good microwave. A Duck House - no chance! A Bell Tower -piss off! Removal of that troublesome wisteria - when hell freezes over.
These grants are applied for by people with disabilities, ex-homeless and the like who have no savings and rely entirely on benefits for their income. They don't get £60,000 p/a -these are folk on four figure annual incomes. Perhaps one of the good socialists of the Labour Party could enlighten us. Are these people receiving far, far less help than they're due or having you lot just been ripping the piss right out of your expenses? After all expenses are just for what you need not wee treats. Or are some pigs more equal than others?