Our govmint want to increase the pension age to 66 in 2016.
That is the year in which I will be 66. So I will be getting the pennies of pension I paid pounds for one year before they clamp down on everyone else. I will be so delighted I might even put a down payment on a Reliant Robin. Second hand.
Well, big deal. I smoke and drink and eat salt and fat and if I'm still alive then, the State Sandman is sure to visit to remove embarrassments from the gene pool. Even if I can get to 66 I will be looking after myself. If I can't then no amount of money will make continuation worthwhile.
Pension, to me, is death's back door. Accept that and you accept the end. It's a black scythe in State garb.
There is no predetermined end to my life. One day it will just stop.
I will not take the State's word on when that should be. I will not waste the end of it on SAGA holidays and allotment pottering. I don't know when the end will come.
It will come but when it does, it will find me with teeth bared and eyes open.
And a lit cigarette.
Oh, and if the bottle isn't empty. then you'll have to come back later.
Correction- I'll only be 56 in 2016. I can't even imagine being around in 2026. It feels like far too long for anyone to be hanging around.
So I won't escape the ever-vanishing retirement age. There's really not much of an argument left for stopping smoking or cutting down on booze and fat and salt. Living longer just means working longer. Might as well enjoy ourselves and cash in early because retirement is an empty promise anyway.