Move on Ricky

I didn't watch Ricky Hatton's comeback and am very glad I made that choice. The reports tell me that it was nearly everything I feared it could be. At least he gets to walk away. I hope this retirement is for real and that he a scratched whatever itch it was that made him return.

Good luck Ricky. I am sure you are a big enough person to find something else in life that is worthy of you.

Who are they to judge

Yesterday I heard a heated debate about whether or not wealthy privileged politicians are qualified to talk about the poor and poverty. It seems obvious that whether qualified to or not, they have to. It is part of what governments should do.

What they should not do is make sweeping judgemental statements (and policy decisions) based on ill informed prejudice. The classic is Norman Tebbit's 'Bike' speech, patronising those poor sods stuck in communities where his party's policies had laid waste to all industry. From the current Nasty Party we are seeing and hearing more and more of this kind of stuff as they drive through their welfare reform agenda.  Being fair to Tebbit, at least he could claim  with some honesty a humble background. That is something that many of those making pronouncements today cannot.

So what should Politicians do? Those of us who cannot claim first hand experience of poverty should, to reverse John Major's words, condemn less and understand more. This does not mean dodging tough decisions, it means making better decisions. Of this I offer exhibit A - The Bedroom Tax. The docking of benefits for households under occupying by one bedroom or more.

In London there is a huge shortage of family sized accommodation and we do need incentives for those under occupying large homes to downsize. However in many places, for example St Helens there is no shortage of 3 bed houses and the social and market rents for a three bed house are pretty similar. Often landlords have let 3 bed houses to couples, or those with one child because there were no other takers, and/or no smaller accommodation available.

Therefore we have a policy that will attack the already low living standards of poor people in some deprived areas of Britain where the goal of downsizing is neither necessary or desirable. Rather than tub thumping some open minded reflection is required.

What the Squeezed Middle is Thinking - Jesus!

Can't pay for your coffee and croisant, worried about paying for your kids art and music lessons, fretting about the mortgage on your huge house. These are the concerns expressed by a self confessed 'Squeezed Middle Class Mother' in todays Guardian. The story is of a couple of graphic designers struggling with a big mortgage in these austere times.

With heart tugging emotion we hear her child ask 'Mum, Dad are we poor?' The writer laughs off the suggestion at the time, but knows the terrible truth.

No, No, No, NO! Stop it! You are not, may I repeat, Not poor. You are not as rich as you think you should be, or as well off as you once were. Maybe the demand for freelance graphic designers is a bit low right now, but by no rational measure are you poor.

Poor is living in a garage, poor is worrying about having money for food not art classes. Poor is also about lacking the contacts, education, skills to ever a good job in the future. None of this applies to the wailing squeezed middle. These are tough times but the perception of 'poverty' is dangerous.

This middle class appropriation of 'poverty' allows us to demand special dispensations, suggest we cannot be expected to do anything for those in the Estate up the road, that we have the right to fight to defend our perks. We can slip into a charity begins at home mentality that ignores the reality of what is going on around us.

It is not nice not being able to afford the lifestylye you once had, and it is hard not being able of give your children all you would like to. But wake up and smell the costcutter coffee. Poverty is worrying about being able to send your kids to school in a uniform that won't get them laughed at, and living in a world where there is only ever  money for the basics. It is not about having to ditch the ballet lessons, and having to think twice about the skiing trip.

Home Sweet Home

Over the last couple of years I have seen poverty starting to bite the most vulnerable harder. The first tangible sign for me was seeing the adverts for the food bank appearing on estates. No food, no money for food?
It hit me hard that in Britain being poor could still mean hunger.
This week a friend shared a photo takin in East London. It was of a lock up garage that a family were living in. There was the bed made up, the pots and pans. I have seen garages used as shooting galleries by drug addicts. This was nothing of the kind. What was crushing about this photo was how neat it was, how the people living there were trying to make it a home.
Most decision makers don't meet the poor. The whining 'squeezed middle' are where the swing votes grow. These are tough times, but we are still a rich enough nation to afford ensure all our people have enough to eat, and get to sleep in a room built for humans not machines.

https://twitter.com/AndreaBaker_PH/status/268811386946195456/photo/1

Top 5 Most Disappointing Things Growing Up

I never liked stories about kids even when I was a kid. Famous Five, Swallows and Amazons, anything by E Nesbit. From a very early age I wanted to be an adult. It seemed much more fun, filled with far greater possibilities. Why be Dennis the Menace if you could be Batman, or James Bond, or well any cool adult? This view did rather deny me the chance of seeing the world with a child like wonder.

A couple of years ago I was sat in my office chatting to a colleague, a man in his 50's. As he looked out of the window something caught is eye.

'Wow, what a wonderful (insert Latin name) fungus on that tree!'

His genuine delight at the wonders of nature both impressed and depressed me. Depressed because although I could see on an intellectual level that this was an impressive thing, I did not feel his joy. So  this curmudgeonly vein I thought it was time to round out my top 5 most disappointing growing up experiences. I started warming to this theme after reflecting on the threat of three more  episodes of star wars.

So here goes

1) McDonalds. It is 1977 and I am 10. My best mate at school is having a Birthday treat and I'm invited. Logan's Run, followed by a trip to McDonalds. I had no idea what McDonalds was but my friend told me it was great.
2) Panto. 1973 and we have a school trip into Newcastle to see Aladdin. My chocolate bar melted. this scarred me. I have I lifelong suspicion of live theatre as a result.
3) Chessington Zoo, Before Chessington World of Adventures there was Chessington Zoo. I seem to recall the nearest they got to big game was a goat, and they had a big slide.
4) Star Wars. Not as good as Logan's Run. Or Planet of the Apes. I hadn't seen Soylent Green at that stage, which is probably a good thing.
5) The Royal Tournament. The programme promised a reenactment of the Battle of Trafalgar. We got two poorly made models of ships making canon noises while a Royal Navy band played in the middle.  A note for the nostalgic, the digital age means that entertainment now lives up to the hype. Can you imagine if Avatar had turned out to be two women in blue tee shirts mucking about in a florist. Actually......

To balance this off I should maybe do a top five least disappointing things but working on a list that starts 'it doesn't make you go blind after all' probably isn't helpful.

Free Transfer and Globalise this

It probably says something meaningful about our globalised existence that we have international footballers being courted by several nations for their allegiance. It probably says something depressing but understandable about England that turning out for Finland, Jamaica or Ivory Coast could be a more appealing option.

But maybe, what is revealed is that nationhood is really like being a football supporter. Once we never travelled far and supported our local team. Now there are fervent Man U fans in Kaula Lumpar. Once we were kind of stuck with our country of birth, so we may as well make the best of it. Now with a following wind we can blow around the planet, wherever we lay our ipad that's our home.

As one who tends to find even benign displays of nationalism a bit tricky this is quite a refreshing concept. So given this idea I started musing about if not England, which  nation would I choose? Belgium kind of appealed but they are a bit strange. I think that Flanders/Walloon split has something to do with it. Ghana? Nice people, don't eat the salad.  After about 3 minutes consideration of the Lonely Planet Guides in my book case I came to a conclusion. Like following Palace, I have been English so long now I am kind of stuck with it.

I hope for the sake of having a watchable England side over the next few years Raheem and Wilfred make a similar choice.

Taxman Cometh

I find it hard to accept that the HMRC are struggling that hard to get their paws on what Starbucks et al should have paid. As noted elsewhere they are much happier hounding the little guy who cannot afford a high end tax lawyer.

Twenty years ago I was working in France on a campsite for the equivalent of about £85 per week. I was paid in cash but my employers reassured me that they took care of the tax side of things with the French.

Sadly when a year later I had to complete at Tax return the HMRC took a very different view and enthusiastically pursued me for their share of my massive earnings. Ok, fairs fair and I should have looked a bit more closely at my employers advice. However if pound for pound the HMRC invested the same effort in pursuing Amazon as they did for my meagre offer their tax bill would not be an issue today.
What I see is a cosy relationship with big business. Take the money off us poor sods on PAYE, hound the self employed builder and cheerfully ignore the big fish funnelling their profits through tax havens. Why? Because they have the money to fight and the friends in high places.