Saturday 17 March 2012

The cost of kindness

In the spirit of being the bloody nice bloke I really am, I've just been over the road to sort out a little electrical job. All free, gratis and for nothing, naturally, because that is what neighbours do. Before anybody starts getting ideas, I am not a charity and it's only because I accidentally answered my front door, expecting a delivery, that any of this happened. I'm just not good at saying 'no', which is yet another, damned good reason to avoid any contact with you needy humans. (Plus, you don't need to shit on your own doorstep - who knows who they know?)

It was about eleven in the morning, the heating was full on, despite being practically tee-shirt weather, the 'lady of the house was still in a dressing gown and the kids were all sitting round the telly. (I took no pleasure at all in turning off the power.) When I say 'all' in reference to the kids, I only mean all that were there. It turns out there are six sprogs altogether. I don't know how they afford it. Or, rather, I don't know how they would be able to afford it if they had to pay for them. But of course, it's you and I, the taxpayers who pick up the tab.

And yes, it was all there. Enormous flat-screen telly, all manner of X-boy-play-game-station-thingies, Blu-Ray, huge leather suite, range cooker, computers in every room. Not bad for an occasional cash-in-hand roofer. Couldn't work full-time, of course, otherwise they'd be too tired to have stand-up rows in the street at three in the morning on a bi-weekly basis. Bless.

To be fair, they are not horrible people, as such and I suppose it's not their fault that they exist and subsist in the way they do. But it is somebody's fault and people who serve no useful purpose should simply not exist in a responsible, civilised society.

Actually, they did offer to pay me, but I am a genuinely decent cove and graciously declined. Besides, I worked out I'd have to work longer hours at my own job in order to pay enough tax to cover the costs. I reckon £20 in their pockets probably represents at least a couple of hundred out of ours, by the time you've paid for the bloated excesses of all involved in the game of stealing from the not-rich in order to give to the not-poor.

Of course, to be liable for two hundred squids-worth of tax I'd have to earn a grand - at basic rate. Jesus, I'm glad I didn't accept anything - it would have cost me a fortune!

Meet the neighbours


  1. Yet HMRC plague us with that ghastly pun, "Tax doesn't have to be taxing" when we all know that's cojones!

  2. Indeed. We should all down tools and declare ourselves... er... Greek!