Flood Money
“It's been a pretty good year,” says I, “and I've hit a good many of the targets I set myself. So I'm giving myself a 10% bonus.”
“Really?” says my wife. “And who is going to pay for it?”
And, as the bard once said, there's the rub. For I have been remiss inasmuch as I have neglected to form myself into a government department whereby I would have had access to loads of dosh from the taxpayer. And thus made a paltry 10% bonus easily obtainable.
Being merely a poor writer – poor in the sense of monetarily although there are conflicting opinions on this – I rely upon the sweat of my brow to obtain an income. No sweat, no achievement, no money. It's an age old arrangement that has now been superseded by an enlightened government for their employees but one that has yet to be adopted by industry in general.
My father was a civil servant for his whole life. He rose to high office, on the fifth floor actually, but never once received a bonus. His advice to me was that I could take up any trade, profession or calling I wished as long as it wasn't the civil service, but he was not prescient enough to appreciate that the new order would soon be dishing out bonuses just for showing up to work.
And the news that the department responsible for the environment in Britain has just awarded themselves a healthy chunk of cash for hitting their unnamed targets must be cheering news for those taxpayers watching their household goods floating down the street, flood management being one of the targets that was missed, apparently.
But the risibly ennobled Baroness responsible (and if she's entitled to be a Baroness, my cat's a Yarmouth bloater) will hardly be bothered.
After all, if it were her household goods that were awash, 24000 quid would buy her a pretty good new set.
“Really?” says my wife. “And who is going to pay for it?”
And, as the bard once said, there's the rub. For I have been remiss inasmuch as I have neglected to form myself into a government department whereby I would have had access to loads of dosh from the taxpayer. And thus made a paltry 10% bonus easily obtainable.
Being merely a poor writer – poor in the sense of monetarily although there are conflicting opinions on this – I rely upon the sweat of my brow to obtain an income. No sweat, no achievement, no money. It's an age old arrangement that has now been superseded by an enlightened government for their employees but one that has yet to be adopted by industry in general.
My father was a civil servant for his whole life. He rose to high office, on the fifth floor actually, but never once received a bonus. His advice to me was that I could take up any trade, profession or calling I wished as long as it wasn't the civil service, but he was not prescient enough to appreciate that the new order would soon be dishing out bonuses just for showing up to work.
And the news that the department responsible for the environment in Britain has just awarded themselves a healthy chunk of cash for hitting their unnamed targets must be cheering news for those taxpayers watching their household goods floating down the street, flood management being one of the targets that was missed, apparently.
But the risibly ennobled Baroness responsible (and if she's entitled to be a Baroness, my cat's a Yarmouth bloater) will hardly be bothered.
After all, if it were her household goods that were awash, 24000 quid would buy her a pretty good new set.
posted by Diary of a Ghost Writer at 8:32 am
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