Chickens come home, the young get plucked

LEP Columnist Barry Freeman
LEP Columnist Barry Freeman
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Of course, the young unemployed of today have only themselves to blame.

Lest we forget, it was they, in their feckless greed and heedless consumptive binge – all on the click, the tick, the never-never – that virtually bankrupted the now eternally austere British Aisles.

Quite right too they should now forfeit welfare privileges enjoyed – even if not actually used – by every single one of the wealthy political players now planning to strip such entitlements away.

Nobody forced grasping child bankers to lend recklessly in the 90s/early noughties, stupendous multiples of their banks’ financial reserves, nor to parcel up that bad debt, snidely flog it as viable, then use the funds raised to underwrite (inadequately, as we later learned) a continued confetti approach to loans policy. Naturally, the other youngsters hoovered up all this cheap easy dough then blew their guts out on the mother of all sprees.

Mega-mortgage, two hols a year, nice car for the Mrs, livin’ la vida loca like the lifestyle magazines!

Circa 2007 their selfish chickens came home. Not to roost. To trash the joint with pick-axe handles.

On reflection, perhaps the single greatest mystery here is how they managed to fit this mayhemic reign of malfeasance in around school, homework, play and such.

But they obviously did. And now they have to pay. They are paying.

Ha ha. Only jokes. That was us, wasn’t it? The older people.

We’re the ones who borrowed £££ signs to wear as eyes, capsized the economy and then in our rage and shame voted to declare war on the poorest, weakest and – in the case of the young – most abysmally failed in our community.

Visible, depressing reminders of our folly, aren’t they? The needy, the walking sick, the man asleep in the doorway, the jobless youth.

Miliband joined Cameron and Clegg to form ‘Cameleggiband’ this week, pledging to hack as big a chunk out of the welfare state as any free market Tory to hold recent high office. Training the carrot on his stick. Provided by whom, and of what nature we can only guess.

An educated guess, though. And if is much more than a ‘spin’ on the widely worthless modern YTS all three sell as ‘apprenticeships’ I will not only eat hay with a donkey, I’ll take the beast on in a permanent capacity as my personal chef.

Zero hours, naturally. Like the 8,000 ‘opportunities’ at McDonalds.