My stupid little self was excited when they said we were in a recession. I'd read about the shanty towns in '29. I'd listened to the punk political rants of the eighties. I thought it would spark political interest and change. Selfishly, I thought I'd be OK.
The first years I was. I got the odd job, lived cheap, didn't notice the pinch. But three years on it's wearing thin. My friends and I have graduated university and we're being wasted. Noone wants to use our skills. Our brains are rotting. We're losing hope and even though there's more to life than work, it saps you not having it.
No overall drive, no part of anything bigger, no reason to get up or leave the house. No money for fun, driving a wedge between you and anyone with a job. No future plans.
No future.
Plenty of time though to sit around and watch the news, to see the Government cutting your handouts, to see the economy contract, to see the layoffs and the pain and the columns from the Guardianistas about how they've suffered too as now they can't buy a large pack of organic smoked salmon.
Plenty of time to call the dole office and ask where your money is, to recieve no answers, to go in for meetings and try and be ignored and resented and to count the pennies and pray for money back and debts recalled and that somehow holidays become free.
It's harder every morning to get up, and if my CV was honest it would read more like a prostitute's calling card. All services offered for money.
