Victorian Era - The Reboot

I'm currently doing some research for something I want to write and that's going to be set in the late Victorian Era... and I realized that, even though our calendars say 2015, there are things that have almost gone back to how bad it was back in the 19th century.

We have food scandals (no more lead and chalk, but GMOs and horse meat in your lasagna anyone?).

The protection of the unions is getting weaker.

More and more people simply can't afford to heat their flats or houses (I think I remember reading about old people who died in unheated places because they couldn't afford to pay for that). If I merely have a look at the amount of money I've got to give to the Gas Company, that's theft (they use a higher rate in the heart of winter - for one week mid-December, I gave them as much money as I paid for a whole month in early spring). Perhaps there are too many bipeds on earth, but in the 21st century, no one should die because of the cold in a civilized country.

And then... the nastiest scam orchestrated by our politicos: retirement.

One of my cousins just got a file in the post about retirement rights, and everything about 'How long will you have to work?', which prompted my mother to ask me what my situation, retirement-wise, is. 

Charming.

I thought, 'I've got time!', but curiosity launched my inner cat on the Internet, and then... I realized the extent of the catastrophe.

I'll have to work (at least - if the politicos don't change the retirement laws again!) for 47 years, and I thought, 'Okay, I'm going to die before I can retire.'

You see, I didn't start working at 15.

I started working when I finally managed to find a job, and that was only after I got my M.St. (my M.A. wasn't even enough for me to find something! - Anything).

The year I sat for my PhD, I had three jobs (so I don't mind working hard and long hours), but... I didn't make enough money for that year to be counted (that's why I love so much the character of Martin Crieff in Cabin Pressure: I can relate).

After my PhD? Oh, that's soooo pretty on the curriculum! But I have to fend alone, and finding regular jobs is a task from hell (add to the mix the occasional boss who gives a job to a bloke coz he thought I was married and working just for fun, whilst the hired bloke is the breadwinner - I usually joke that I'm Christmas pudding, and dessert comes after bread).

You know, I think I wouldn't be so angry if I could expect more than two months of retirement before I kick the bucket (provided that I find a position where they won't renew my contract once I reach a certain age), and if the politicos who voted the laws weren't such hypocrites (some of them earn in a month what I earn in a year! And they can retire after five years! FIVE years!!!!!).

I'm also a bit angry because I've been advised to either become a politician (that'd be tough, as I'm honest, and I find all political parties to be the same brand of liars and I couldn't join any) or to find myself a wealthy husband. First, I'll have to remind my relatives that a wife could do as well... However, I'm not going to sell myself for financial security.

I'd rather swallow hot coal. Mind you, that might be a way to avoid freezing to death when I'm old and grey, when no one wants to employ me because I look like a mummified raisin, and when I can't afford to turn the heater on.

Dear Fairy in the Sky that doesn't exist, may I be a politico or a footballer in my next incarnation (the one that's never going to happen)?