What the mouse did the other day

London Victoria Tube Station Monday Morning. These words hurt. Everybody on the platform feels them. Pain, ugly pain is in the air, eyes trying to avoid it look down on the floor. Grim, grim, grim squeezes through the muffled thicket of grey humid coats. Grim.

There! A young woman says to her boyfriend, pointing a the tracks. A grey little mouse, button-eyed, flits under the track, next to the track, there, no there! Flits further.

An old man starts to follow her ways, her crumb hunt, smiles and bends forward to see her flint flint flint under the track, next to the track.

A child, finger in mouth, looks at the furry movement on the tracks, at her mother, and back big eyes!

Her older brother becomes curious and checks, sees that the mouse found the bite of an old pizza.

Mouse drags her prey in a hole.

The platform smiles.

And steps back. The train arrives in London Victoria Tube Station Monday Morning.

Living on those £53 a week – or did you mean £12 and less?

Crunchy and healthy

WYPINWYG

Unemployment can hit (almost) anyone in this hire-and-fire environment. The state is there to give a helping hand until circumstances have changed (a new position / job is found). In an ideal world this is how the situation and welfare amount is bearable. It is not meant to be everyday life but a short period. Those being stuck, no new job in sight, health issues that keep them at home, having worked all life – those are slapped in the face with that far-from-reality sum of £53. (For those who live to accommodate with that sum living a fair well life, for their mishap I don’t care.)

To live on £53 a week for one week as was suggested for Iain Duncan Smith – what a joke! You could basically live that way for a few weeks even. If the amount was purely for meals and one train ride, that is. It isn’t. Let’s create one example for real test conditions.

If you stay unemployed after those few weeks, nothing surprising nowadays, hardship begins – that would be a fun test! I assume the honest hard workers who find themselves in these circumstances are a far cry from expecting luxury and palaces. But a decent amount to live of, to not feel kicked in the posterior by a system they paid in for decades. (Again, for those who collect children or accommodate in the life-of-state I can’t care less.)

The actual trouble is, those £53 are not purely for meals and one train ride. For example, the average “you” rents/mortgages an average flat or house you could afford easily with your average income. If there are not enough savings  you might consider moving houses as soon as unemployment hits you – or pay quite a chunk of the rent from those £53 and your own money – because what the average is and what housing benefit considers it to be is worlds apart in one of the priciest countries for rents. After years of work that’s a bright future to look forward to, that’s the security your country offers you. A detail: In the Greater London area those under 35, single, no child, are expected to live in a room (not a studio) for about £78 / week, excluding utilities (these are on the bill of your weekly allowance). Show me this place, please – what a likely scenario in the London area! The difference to those £312 of monthly rent (what a joke even for cheap rents in Berlin)  is to be paid with the £53. If you the find yourself in the situation of needing financial help you have an issue that goes beyond £53. You will be using your savings plus your weekly allowance to pay for the time between 2 jobs. And yes, you can do that for 1 week or a few more. When 53 becomes 12 (or a red minus-number, more like) life is a test indeed. I am aware that everybody is responsible for themselves. But then please don’t smirk and call this welfare that can be lived on (for one week)!

If you have worked a certain amount of time you should be supported (%-wise based on your income) a certain amount of time instead of being forced to reduce your circumstances to an unnessecarily unbearable minimum as a thank you for the taxes you paid every month. Because your few savings (meant to be spent in the golden pension years) will use up very quickly. Or should we simply not settle, not move out from our parents’ home (also to justify their otherwise spare room, small as their flat otherwise might be, but that’s another silly story) until …. until when?, not feel secure, just in case?

At the moment this feels like buying a nice apple in the supermarket and at the door you trip, drop it. It’s taken away and all you get back is a quarter of last year’s apple. Because that’s what everybody gets, no matter what. Doesn’t sound healthy.

The Zeitgeist – Thinking from Noon until Lunch

A midweek purchase: fresh milk and bread. I enter the supermarket to go hunting for my food. Happily I am not thinking about what I am not told is in my food. I would be a great and fun target group: Vegetarian. Who could be fooled more with hidden meat?

Approaching the aisle that holds my current milk-target I suddenly lose orientation, mind and floor. A stormy voice, I imagine swaying above me with a megaphone, presses me against a shelf with impressive force.

I cannot but listen to the thunder of announcement, my hair blowing uncontrolled.

“Dear friend of purchase, dear peasant!

Your Tesco withstands every price comparison with other retailers! We are that cheap and we know you love cheap. Or economic. But then the pun is lost”.

The dear and cheap customer, to get a valuable voucher, is now seduced to hunt down products that Tesco has not yet managed to price dump. To chase the yoghurt or lasagne or cheese of too high a price in the grazed fields of the £.

I wonder (not a really mind-wrenching task) who will pay for the valuable voucher .. a horse, maybe an earthworm whose value dropped, maybe, only maybe, the Tesco staff with generous wage, maybe the dear customer …

But why brood and get a strange gut feeling: The unknown ingredients of my vegetarian food work on that on my brain’s behalf.

I, for one, have a price comparison to win!

Well-worn phrases – For free!!

To cut a long story, like, sort of short, hi all, an easy way is to jump to conclusions. However, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Even short-cut stories deserve some multitasking abilities. Be considerate of others, how will their quick grasp of new ideas set the wheel in motion? As in: How will the abridged story be perceived? “Twinkle twinkle little star” or “Off is the direction I want you to fuck”?

So, obviously, we need to talk. Or not, it depends.

To cut Little Red Riding Hood short (Girl goes into the woods, equiped with wine, gets involved with a wolf, which then eats a relative, is stoned thereafter and dies) might result in hot tears wept by the tender mind.

Those who love the arts to bits, hate TV, spend their pastime in galleries and do something with media – they might find that version intriguing, inspiring, quirky.

What is to be done is to cut nothing short but to remain silent, smile and wave. Nobody gets hurt, we can stay friends, it’s not you, it’s me.

 All is well and we live happily ever after.

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