October 4th, 2015

bah

Pensionable

When I were a lad we called it the Old Age Pension. Now it's just The State Pension. People these days have a rooted objection to being called "old". I think it's a sickness.

Anyway I got my letter from the DWP (it was waiting for me on our return from Leicester) telling me I was going to be able to start drawing the pension next year. It encloses a booklet setting out my options and choices- which I suppose I need to read. Why does everything have to be so complicated these days? There's this belief abroad that people want choices in life (you know, umpteen brands of bloody cornflakes) when the truth is we'd just like things to run smoothly. Look, I don't want to have to make decisions; simply pay me my money down. I'll make the decisions once it's in my palsied hand.

Otherwise receiving my letter and little booklet makes me happy. It's a rite of passage.  Look, I'm certifiably old. I can eat golden age meals in restaurants (only I won't because the portions are stupidly small) and I can do all those things Jenny Joseph looks forward to getting away with in her famous poem. Being old is cool.