Monday 13 September 2004


Being a bit of a hard-nosed bastard, it takes a lot to bring a tear to my eye. But having to haggle with a Battle of Britain vet who's insisting that I'm trying to put too much money into his collection tin does the trick.

So let's say a word about the utter abject failure of the Socialist welfare state. Men who risked their lives, and widows whose husbands gave theirs, to save us all have to stand on street corners giving away stickers in exchange for a handful of coins because the pension provided to them by the state whose existence they preserved isn't enough to give them a decent basic standard of living — and I'm not talking about lavish lifestyles here: "decent basic" means what it says. Meanwhile, a large portion of the tax I pay is spent on the hefty guaranteed inflation-proof salaries and pensions of bureaucrats whose job is to calculate tax according to the obscenely complex tax codes created for no other real reason than to provide them with those salaries and pensions.

There is simply no way that any World War Two vet should ever need to be the beneficiary of charity. Every time you see anyone collecting on their behalf, remember that it is an abomination — and give generously.

Take from the rich and give to the poor. From each according to his ability; to each according to his needs. Never worked out that way, did it?

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