The large woman (incidentally the democratically elected
constituent Member of Parliament) waddled over to the parking meter, while Gary
rummaged in the glove compartment for spare change. The new government tax on cash (pounds,
pence and so on) was beginning to bite.
It had been introduced to persuade consumers to use plastic instead:
credit cards were being subsidised by another government initiative as a result
of a levy on children’s toys.
~
As Gary walked across the parking lot he hunkered low in
his thread loose jacket and searched his pockets for his cigarette
lighter. He had a couple of cigarettes
left from the packet his wife had bought him for a recent birthday. God
bless her, thought Gary – his wife had to do three weeks overtime to afford
it, had to go on the dark web to purchase lighter fuel. And as for the crate of lager, Gary dreaded
to think about what sacrifice had gone into buying that!
I’ll repay her
somehow..perhaps I’ll take her away somewhere Gary imagined, in an instant
remembering his friend Tommy who had re-mortgaged his house to afford air tax
to fly his family to Spain. And then
there was the duty on sun screen and swim wear.
Swim wear had been the subject of a series of public service
advertisements aimed at educating people in the dangers of promiscuity. There were a few beaches in the UK that had
now been designated red light zones (not that anyone under the age of fifty
ever visited them in the first place).
Gary sighed, lit up and inhaled..there would be no holiday
then – besides getting the time off work would have involved filling in one
form after another, after another, as well as a visit to the Citizens Advice
Bureau to be shown how not to infringe the application: a highly probable
scenario. Gary’s co-worker, Darren, had
had his holiday application rejected on the grounds he was left handed (the clue was in his handwriting!). Left handed people were viewed by the home
office as a potential communist/pink press threat, better contained within
surveillance boundaries.
~
Still, it was nearly Christmas, and there was something
vaguely reminiscent of good old fashioned Christmas cheer in the air, even if
the low energy Christmas lights, and faith neutral Christmas decorations (comprising
of purple stars and glitter) did little to capitalise on this residual feeling.
Nevermind, mulled wine was what Gary had been sent to
procure by his wife, and as Gary entered the supermarket past a government
approved Santa Claus, posing in an all in one red and green Lycra bodysuit, he
was praying to the faith neutral Gods half the bank loan he and his wife had
taken out for the festive season would not be used up on one bottle alone. After all the children would need something to drink too; equally the thought of making
moonshine again from left over cans of Anti-Freeze didn’t appeal (Gary's children by
the way were legally obliged to a daily intake of antabuse until their
sixteenth birthday to prevent under age alcohol consumption).
~
..Up and down the aisles the supermarket was full of grey looking people
struggling to steer their remote control trolleys, struggling gamely to look
cheerful, however antiquated a posture looking cheerful had become. Gary reached the alcohol section. Customary security checks were being carried
out to ensure all consumers were not carrying any metallic materials, sharp
objects – belts had to be removed etcetera.
Gary got in line, at least it wasn’t as bad as buying cigarettes he
thought, where you were likely to be strip searched and or taken for an X-Ray –
all for your own good, of course, as the government slogan went.
All for your own good,
Gary repeated to himself, as he prepared to unlace his shoes and unbuckle his
wrist watch, all for you own good...
…if only the
politicians would acknowledge 99% of abstinent non-smokers die, more or less
the same.
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