Rich and poor

Missed Rabbit Hole day, possibly because my tax bill turned up. Talk about fiction posing as fact. Jahaysus.

I wonder what I actually get for my tax pennies if the company I work for as a self employed contractor decides they no longer need me? I wonder what this society would do for me if I was down and out. The NHS I understand and could never regret. But what about benefits? Would I get any at all? Or is my best bet to just get pregnant?

I remember being poor, properly poor, in the 80s and 90s a weird series of years where I started by earning very little, played leapfrog up the salary ladder, then spent long fallow periods unemployed. Nice flat from the council, but a very rough area, and just no money at all, the undercurrent of Thatcherism - people opening their flats as tiny ever-so-unlicensed cafes where you could get chili con carne for £1.50 and some crusty nutter in the corner would entertain you with poetry, or, if you were really unlucky, their latest digeridoo symphony.

I had a lot of fun then, even without. You don't need to be rich to be happy, but you do need to be able to forget worrying about money, either because you ain't got it so life is simple, or you have so much that life is simple.

I would ever so much like a receipt for my tax, complete on breakdown on where the money is actually going. An expensive exercise, but more useful to me than a f*cking ID card.