The bansturbators have moved on to the overweight. Smokers are now demonised right into the inner circles of Hell and booze has minimum pricing and horrible warnings and other controls already under way. Time to open the guns on the next target.
Tipped by Email – the Government can control what you eat.
For a more hysterical take but a more likely to be permanent link, try the Mail. Yahoo links tend to drop off the internet after a while.
The government can only control you if it owns you and it only owns you if it’s bought you. The only person it can buy you from is you.
That’s why, in my recent personal financial collapse, I turned to eBay and my stock of railway and other models rather than claim any benefits at all. There’s still a fair bit of stock in case of a recurrence and a gradual buildup of larger scale stuff too. None of it is so desperately important that I cannot part with it if needs must (except the 9Fs).
Incidentally, I came home from a 9-hour shift today to find a huge and immensely heavy box waiting for me. I nearly re-cracked my rib lifting it (I can still tell exactly where the crack is when I cough but no longer have to hug my chest when I feel a cough coming in case my ribcage bursts).
It came from a lunatic friend in Wales, one of the few I have kept in touch with since school. He is in salvage (legal, not melting down cenotaph stuff) and was in the right place when an old coalmine’s sidings were finally being redeveloped. I now have a railchair in cast iron, marked ‘GWR’, two guide wheels for signal cables and a single-line working token. This means nothing at all to most of you.
The railchair is the lump of cast iron that bolts to the sleepers and holds the rails in line. It’s made to last. The old style semaphore signals (still in use in this backwater) were worked by cables from great big levers in the signal box. Not always in a straight line, so the cast wheels were needed to get the cables around corners and up the signal posts. I used to make working semaphore signals in N, when my eyes were young.
The token is a rough old key. Where there was only one track that was worked in both directions, the token made sure only one train was on the track at a time. If you didn’t have the token you didn’t proceed onto the line. Instead you waited for the train driver coming towards you to hand over the token at the junction where you were waiting.
I had told this old friend that I was moving up a scale. Since he is as mad as me, he assumed I was moving up to 1:1 scale so sent some parts. My accumulation of 1:1 parts is growing so one day…
Right. Where was I?
If you have sold yourself to the State in return for free money and an easy life, you have also given the State total control over your life. If they don’t want you to buy smokes, booze or burgers they will give you a card that only works for carrots and lentils. There is no more point in you complaining than there is any point in your budgie complaining that you have started buying ‘value’ seed and sandpaper instead of the posh stuff. You will get what you are given. You are a pet. Bought and paid for, and it was you who sold you.
Demonise my smoking, I’ll grow it myself. Tell me I cannot buy booze and I’ll brew it myself. In both cases, plain packaging and graphic warnings will have no effect because none of it has any labels anyway.
I’m not on benefits. I can buy with cash, not State-permitted card. I work for the private sector in what can fairly be described as a shitty entry-level job. It pays the bills. It’s all I really need. Anything extra I can make with a few book sales or another clearout on eBay. There is tons of junk still here.
But there is something I want. I want to build an OO-gauge railway (I’d like EM but I am damned if I’m soldering well over 20 metres of track sleeper by sleeper, not counting sidings). It’s frivolous and unnecessary and appears to have no benefit but then that’s what I thought about my N gauge accumulation before I had the first price shock on eBay. It’s a bit like smoking. I do it because I like it.
To achieve this I need more than just ‘pay the bills’. Not much more. I plan to scratchbuild most of it anyway. I can get the chassis of defunct wagons cheap and put new ones on top. Once in a while I’ll start with bought wheels and do all the rest. It’s a lot of work.
So I will take all extra hours available. I have to rebuild a reserve so I can have spare to waste on toys. It is likely I will have to work 9-hour shifts five days a weeks for a short period. I don’t mind. The job is pleasant and mindless and does not follow me home and it helps me achieve what I want while teaching me new techniques. Even if I am forced to work with attractive young ladies.
This gives me a diametrically opposed attitude to many Mail commenters and all Trots everywhere.
They want legislation to make the food companies give them the food they are supposed to eat rather than the food they actually want to eat. They won’t like it when they get it. They do not want responsibility for their own lives.
I eat whatever I feel like and believe everyone else should be free to do so too. 34-inch trousers are loose on me. My life is mine and is not for sale.
Time for a pork pie…