Another quasi-political viral from my Dad (aged 63).  Definitely topical, not sure how it rates on the humour scale . . .

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A lot of people can’t understand how we came to have an oil shortage here
in our country.
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Well, there’s a very simple answer.
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Nobody bothered to check the oil.
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We just didn’t know we were getting low.
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The reason for that is purely geographical.
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Our OIL is located in the North Sea
~~~
Our DIPSTICKS are located in Westminster !!!

Any Questions ???
NO? I didn’t think so!

A political viral email . . . the first my Dad’s sent me - times must be changing . . .

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Lengthy, but worth it.

There is a guy, does business up town, doesn’t use his car much, bit of a novice

when it comes to scooting around London. Anyway, a few weeks back he has

complications with late meetings so, for a couple of days, he drives in. First

time, schoolboy error, he forgets to pay the congestion charge, incurs a GBP60

fine right there. His parking for the day comes to roughly GBP40 in an NCP. Next

time, he remembers the congestion charge, but leaves his car on the street,

doing the parking meter tango, feeding it, moving it, feeding it, moving it, GBP8

here, GBP6 there, until finally he gets really busy, overruns by five minutes and,

bang, a GBP100 penalty. He reckons the whole experience, with petrol, of two days’

motoring will have cost close to GBP300. He’s a wealthy man, he can afford it; but

suppose he was an ordinary working stiff from the sticks, bringing in the

average wage? That could be his disposable income, after the mortgage, gone. For

two innocent, pretty harmless, mistakes. This is why Gordon Brown is in trouble.

The economy is false. The economy is a lie. The economy is a fictional set of

numbers cooked up during a boom period that is almost over, and six months from

now nothing will add up. The cost of a parking ticket grew to be completely

disproportionate in relation to the offence committed because everyone was

sawing it off, so nobody cared. Some twerp slapped a sticker demanding one

hundred notes for a minuscule oversight on your windscreen and you knew it was

preposterous, but you could afford it. And now you can’t. And now you are going

to realise how overpriced and bogus the minutiae of British life are, and Gordon

is panicking because there is no way he can make this sustainable; yet the

artifice of commerce and government relies on your expanding wallet.

If, while waiting for the clampers to arrive, having paid your GBP100 release fee

plus GBP60 fine plus VAT, you pop into Starbucks for a cup of coffee, you will be

charged close on GBP2. For coffee. Think about it, because so few have. We read

about sub-prime mortgage markets and global credit squeezes and receive the deep

thoughts of financial experts that have caught a cold in every recession for the

past 50 years, which is why the benefits from your endowment mortgage will just

about cover a self-assembly greenhouse from Homebase, but nobody notices the

details. Coffee, two quid. No rationalisation. No justification. In a recession,

nobody can drop two quid for a hot drink three times a day, five days a week.

Bottled water the same: GBP1.60 for 500ml to take away at Caff

Nero on Monday.

And everyone has a sip. Our lives are full of inflated expenses that are

propping up Brown’s fairyland economy and, when the penny drops, this crash will

be the mightiest ever. No wonder he looks scared.

For so long we have not given this stuff a thought. My favourite football club

charges a GBP1.50 booking fee on each ticket, so if I take my three boys we pay an

additional GBP6. These tickets will be placed in one envelope and sent to one

address, so the charge cannot cover postage or packing. I am actually paying a

ticket office extra to sell tickets. It would be like a greengrocer applying a

levy for dispensing fruit and vegetables. Yet as this nonsense was introduced in

high times, nobody quibbled.

When a booking fee is demanded, we should ask the person on the end of the line

to send round a cheese sandwich instead. You know, do something that is not part

of the job, because that would be worth a tip. Clean the windows? Yeah, I’ll pay

extra. But applying a surcharge so a ticket office can provide tickets? I’m not

seeing the value.

Brown got away with murder because he was Chancellor in the days when chimps

could make money. In May 1999, he sold half the country’s gold reserves during a

20-year low in the market at an average price of $275 an ounce. Yesterday

morning the price of gold was approximately $946 an ounce. Brown bought euros

instead, which have done well, but even so the cost to the nation of this

mistake is measured in billions; and the only reason it has not been

immortalised as a catastrophe in the same way as, say, Black Wednesday is

because the population has been too busy hiring personal trainers and eating

fancy crisps (chardonnay wine vinegar flavour, firecracker lobster flavour,

patatas bravas, have you people gone nuts?) to care.

It costs more to download music from the same supplier in the United Kingdom

than it does in the United States. Consider that. No shipping, no additional

overheads, no reason the cost of the service shouldn’t be identical. We are so

used to meeting inflated prices, it barely registers anymore. The

top-of-the-range Lexus hybrid costs GBP83,000 in the United Kingdom and GBP54,145 in

the United States. The wealth that keeps Brown’s economy ticking over is a

mirage; it cannot survive the recession. And neither can he.

Not long ago I made a reservation at my favourite Chinese restaurant in town.

Bit pricey. A special occasion place, not your average local. They wanted credit

card details in advance with the right to charge GBP35 per head in the event of

any alteration to the booking. I refused. They would not reserve otherwise. I

very politely asked it to be explained to the manager that there was a recession

around the corner and the number of people looking to drop six figures on

noodles could be about to change quite dramatically. He might want to keep those

that do onside. The reservation was accepted, no credit card. He knew, you see.

So does Gordon. That is why he looks worried.

Sent by my Dad (63) by his Irish mate who seems a bit of viral demon!

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A real mystery why none of these ever made it into the mass market.