Ruminations of a fiscal nature

I've been doing a lot of shouting at the TV lately. Now you're not to think that this is some sort of insidious side effect of turning forty (forty: Dear Hairy Jesus and His Amazing Performing Fishies...), I've been a TV ranter for years. And Years. And years.

It's not that I enjoy hurling abuse at the little people on the idiot box, it's just that they so fucking deserve to be ranted at. And every year the world of TV seems to give ground to a few more morons, idiots, and tosspots.

Take the current plans to rescue the economy, or as it's officially known, 'Quantitative Easing'. Which appears to be wank-weasel speak for 'AAAAAAARGH! IT'S ALL GOING DOWN THE CRAPPER! PRINT MORE MONEY: QUICK!' How stupid do they think we are? Do they really think that slapping a technical-sounding name on it is going to make us all nod our empty little heads and go, 'Yup, them there financial guys sure do know what they is doing. Yup, yup, yup...' Presumable to the sound of banjos playing and incest. Call it what it fucking is, and stop treating us like sodding imbeciles.

But what really roasted my toast was the statement that, 'Hopefully this will get the banks lending again...' Hopefully? What kind of responsible fiscal policy includes the word 'hopefully'? 'Hopefully' is a word better suited to sentences involving full-frontal nudity. Unless the sentence also includes the words 'Anne Widdicombe', in which case it's not such a good idea after all.

And I should point out that I'm not against 'Quantitative Easing'. I'm neither for it nor against it. It's not something I have a strong opinion on (other than the whole wank-weaselry required to come up with the term), not like, say, people who wear white socks, black trousers and black shoes. It makes you look like a knob, OK? Remember the Michael Jackson videos, back when he still had a face that could pass for human? What was he wearing? Black trousers, black shoes, and white fucking socks. Now, I'm not going to say that wearing this sartorial cluster-fuck is going to lead to your nose collapsing while you're prosecuted for child abuse and your monkey turns to a life of hedonistic excess ending up in it ODing on the toilet with a burger in one hand and a copy of Love me Tender in the other, but it's a possibility, OK? That's all I'm saying.

The idea that anything will 'hopefully' encourage the banks to stop acting like the biggest bunch of irresponsible, greedy cock-ferrets we've seen in ages, is a bit rich. 'Hopefully' my pert and fuzzy bum.

Look at the Royal Bank of Scotland - She Who Must Be Kept Further And Further From Anywhere Civilised People Congregate, Lest They Chase Her Through The Village Streets With Burning Pitchforks and I have been thinking about moving house. Buying somewhere even further out in the stick than we live in now. Because, quite frankly, I'm tired of the neighbours complaining about the agonised screams of dying hitchhikers coming from my basement. So I phoned up my local RBS and asked them if the Credit Crunch (which sounds like a breakfast cereal for kids who want to grow up to be accountants) was making it more difficult to get a mortgage with them. 'Oh no,' says the woman on the other end of the magic talking bone, 'our policy for lending hasn't changed at all.'

Good for them. Nice to know all that government money we spent bailing their -- insert colourful expletive here -- company out wasn't a complete waste of time. And then I went in and we talked mortgages. And then she told me what the arrangement fee was going to be. £2,000.00 And then I tried hard to suppress the urge to urinate on her desk.

Two thousand pounds. To arrange something that was free about six years ago. Two THOUSAND pounds*.

Hmmm, yes, it looks as if your lending policy hasn't changed at all -- you're still looking for new and inventive ways to screw us all over. Bravo. Well done.

And then there are the banks offering their customers 'free financial advice'. Right, because they've done such a good job managing our money so far. It's like taking child-rearing advice from a rabid badger. A rabid chainsaw-wielding badger. With your genitals in its scabby paw**.

Could I make a brief appeal on the behalf of the nation: can we all be allowed to kick a banking executive in the groin every time another shitty financial story comes on the news? I think it would make the world a happier place.

Would make me a lot happier anyway...

* OK, OK - you got me, I'm exaggerating for comedic effect. It was £1,900.00
** This does assume that the badger is capable of operating a chainsaw in the first place, and is able to do so one-handed. Or one-pawed, I suppose. And where the hell is a badger going to get a chainsaw from in the first place? What sort of idiot sells a dangerous item of horticultural equipment to a badger with rabies? And where did the badger get the money from in the first place? Probably mugging old ladies with it's sycophantic posse of tattoo-covered biker squirrels. Fucking evil badger bastards.

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