Lines on the nature of les nouveaux riches and yer Old Labour Left
I’ve been looking at a business venture (involving renting out houses here in France – mainly to Brits) and I have an insight to bring to bear on the madness of neocon economics. It is this:
Not only do poor wages, lack of perks and pension + welfare cuts mean that the mass consumers required for mass repeat purchase are getting fewer and buying less; the new rich created by this suicidal economic régime begin to infect other service business from which they in turn buy. Or don’t.
That is to say, they think they can get top quality by demanding more investment from the service company, and then – having assured themselves of the comfort to which one becomes accustomed as a nondom pulling down a million quid a year – want to haggle over the price. This means that the supplier must in turn screw those further down the food chain, and so they in turn cut their living standards and consume less. Or – as is happening in France – the suppliers say “Sod this for a game of marbles”, and wind up the business.
Twenty-five years ago over here, most visitors were committed francophiles who accepted eccentric electricity, lavatories in odd places and a fairly basic kitchen as part of the ‘charm’ of rural France. But now, the dreaded ‘table stakes’ have arrived.
Fifteen years ago, a swimming pool became The Big table stake. Five years ago, it was wifi. Now it’s 100 Gigbytes of Wifi a week because little Clemmie and Archie can’t last a whole seven days without downloading the entire contents of every studio’s back catalogue. A plunge pool won’t do any more, and if you can stetch to three-quarters Olympic size, it simply has to be heated, dahhhling.
God forbid it might rain. But if it does, you’ve got to have a poolhouse with a table to seat at least ten people….even if only six people are there. You see, the new MoU’s are in the business of larging it. And as always, they expect you to fork out for it.
By the time repair men, grass cutters, pool maintainers, cleaners, bed changers, the taxman and agents have thrust a shovel into the dwindling pile of cash, most people with any sense look at it and say, “What’s the point?”
There is no no psychographic on Earth that shoots itself in the foot with quite the unerring accuracy of the neocon barrowboy.
It strikes me that the Left does not, on the whole, want to Leave the EU. But they’re called The Left: indeed, they rejoice in being so called. So they should want to leave the EU in order to live up to being The Left. And the harder the Brexit, the more the Hard Left should want to Brexit….”We left, Man – it was hard to do. But that’s what makes us the Hard Left. We are well ‘ard”.
But in reality, the Left are not leavers….they are Leaves: they’d rather be a leaf that waits until the very last minute before falling off the dead tree. Because you never know – completely unexpectedly (and impossibly) the tree that died of shame might yet sprout some green shoots of morality, democracy, liberty and the Rule of Law. And when it does, well…the loyal Left will be there to celebrate the Final Victory.
Just as they were with the Soviet Union….even when it crushed Hungary and then Czechoslovakia. And just as they aren’t now with Putin’s Russian Federation. Because they’d rather believe NATO, CIA and Brussels agitprop about how Vlad the Lad is a looney who wants to rule the world; yup, they’d rather do that than examine the facts in relation to Greece, Cyprus, Ireland and Syria.
He’s a rum sort of cove, yer Left.