THREE WEEKS TO GO

A few drones appear to have flown over the office at the weekend completely re-arranging our workplace layout. Some might say for the better as magically the room visually appears much larger just by having moved a few desks and filing cabinets. It’s amazing what a simple re-shuffle can do to increase available space.

However, it seems the music on the furniture merry-go-round stopped leaving me almost without a chair to sit on. My desk has been shoe-horned into the ‘Billy no-mates’ corner, a space so cramped that I’m considering changing my name to Sara Dean (sardine). It’s a desk with a view of our customer car park since it’s now right by the window. Whilst that might sound idyllic to some peeps, having sat in a chilly draught all morning I can assure you it’s not. No doubt when the low springtime sun re-appears, it’ll be like working under an interrogation spotlight.

The plastic desk bubble I’d desperately clung onto since Covid gone. How will I keep everyone’s germs out now? Thanks to a daily cocktail of vitamin supplements I’d successfully gotten through those winter months carefully dodging all the coughs, sniffles and squeaky bum episodes brought in by the hoi polloi but without my plastic protector, I may as well be wearing a ‘party here’ badge inviting all microbes round for a intimate tete-a-tete chez moi.

Thank goodness I’ve only three weeks of viral exposure and chilblains left to endure. If I hadn’t already handed in my notice, this definitely would have been the final straw.

Mrs Fannypack's survival tips for cold office workers

YEAR OF THE WAR HORSE

Looks like 2026 is shaping up to be the Year of the War Horse now that Trump has decided to bomb the crap out of the Middle East for reasons known only to orange jelly babies.

Great film and book

Entertaining sub titles on the Beeb’s morning news reportage – HMS Dragon still docked at Pompey apparently waiting for a beautician. Hilarious! Clearly the AI subtitle monkey can’t distinguish between the words ‘munitions’ and ‘beauticians.’ 

I think I prefer their erroneous version because the thought of going to war without perfectly manicured nails, exfoliated skin or unwaxed upper lip is just unthinkable.

Profiteering at the pumps, inflation wave and energy price cap increases all heading our way just when I thought the UK might have been turning an economic corner. It’s another one of those unfortunate setbacks for the Government and personal finances - life won’t be getting any cheaper any time soon!

However, global conflict is no excuse for changing one’s plans. Prices may rocket but I’m still heading for the exit come what may. We'll just have to manage somehow.

THE ORDER OF THINGS

Arctic blast on the way. Cheapest way to keep warm? Get a cat rug.

Months ago, I bought a small brown throw on one of my charity shop trips to keep me warm whilst knitting in front of the telly. Bertie had other ideas and has now commandeered it as his own personal cat bed.

Nice rug 

Not to be thwarted in my efforts to keep arctic chills at bay, I’ve now realised that by draping the rug over my lap to create a human cat bed, I can mooch all his kitty heat at the same time as he absorbs mine. It’s a symbiotic relationship worthy of a Blue Planet documentary.

There is a natural order of things that exists in the animal kingdom and so too in the world of household renovations. The trick is to work out what that order is to successfully bring about the desired end result.

I’ve decided that my wood panelling natural order of things is as follows:

1. Build all panelled sections to the point that they are ready to prime/paint.
2. Apply two coats of primer, sanding everything lightly between coats
3. Mask up the primed panels with a dust sheet
4. Paint the walls above each panelled area with two coats of matt emulsion
5. Carefully remove dust sheets
6. Paint all panelled sections with your choice of colour using silk or eggshell finish paint.

By painting the walls first, I hope to avoid covering my wood panels with unsightly splashes of coloured paint.

What I haven’t decided is whether or not to paint the panels white to create a contrast to the darker green walls or to use what is known as colour drenching.

Colour drenching is a technique used by interior decorators whereby they paint all available surfaces in the same colour or in similar colour tones. Skirting, architraves, coving, pipework even radiators would all be painted exactly the same. Apparently having everything the same shade creates an aura of sophistication, cohesion and can sometimes make rooms look bigger.

Since adding a bit of posh was the whole point of fitting panels to the corridor in the first place then I will make my final choice once the walls have been painted as then I can assess the effect on the overall order of things using the primed panels to help make the decision.

In the meantime, just need temperatures to climb into double figures and remain continuously high so that I can press on with some painting.

FOUR WEEKS TO GO

Not long now before we spring forward into British Summer Time. In anticipation of my own ‘springing forward’ into early retirement, I’ve already packed the contents of my office desk. Yep, one-way ticket to the Principality of Cuppa & Feet-Up bought and paid for.

Mug, pot plant, a few framed family photos, a wrung-out tube of hand-cream, packet of out-of-date Lemsip, a collection of pocket-tissues (unused) and a diverse selection of pharmaceuticals to alleviate all those pains in the neck, hands and arse caused by sedentary office job all squeezed into a small cardboard box. Drawers cleared. Papers shredded. A zillion biros handed back to the Stationery Monitor.

Is that it? Five years of service and that motley collection of tut is all I’ve got to bring home. In fact, I would have qualified for a length of service award to mark the passing of the last 5 years but I’ll eat my hat if our disorganised management actually remember to arrange a certificate before I leg it.

Four weeks to go and if this morning’s anything to go by then the rest of the month is due to rapidly descend into headless chicken chaos. It transpires that my replacement is starting next Monday which my boss had conveniently forgotten to mention. In her usual last-minute.com manner she’s now decided to re-organise all the office furniture because that’s what you do when you’ve got new starters starting. Advance strategic planning notably absent from her management tool kit despite working in a busy financial environment.

As a self-confessed control freak being surrounded by disorganised numpties is my worst possible nightmare. Is it any wonder I’m heading for the exit? Had I been in charge of our team, I would have re-arranged the furniture weeks ago in readiness for staff changes. 

But there you go. Everyone’s different so head down, drink coffee and keep crossing the days off the desk calendar until month end.

FUNDED BY YOU

Independence Day? Not again!!!

The Beeb’s Royal Charter is up for renewal next year and already the emotional blackmail has begun. ‘Funded by You’ - a much over-used slogan continually reminding us that when it comes to telly, you’ve no other choice but to get a licence in order to watch it. An undemocratic unpopular TV tax if ever there was one.

Funded by you?  Wish it wasn't

I don’t know about you but I’m more than happy to pay for something I want. Honestly though, the bilge that passes for TV these days has me scrabbling through my DVD collection more and more as time goes on.

Being a saddo with far too much time on my hands in the afternoons, I’ve perused this week’s tabloid TV guide to see how many films the BBC have on offer. The data is bleak.

BBC 1 has only 2 films scheduled after 5pm (Weds & Friday) both of which are on after midnight. Brilliant if you’re Count Dracula but pants for us mere mortals.

In contrast, BBC 2 is showing films almost nightly but all except one movie are scheduled to start after 11 pm. Again, brilliant for Count Dracula or all those retired/unemployed/night owls but pants for the working majority.

The rest of the Beeb’s schedule is peppered with the kind of shite you’d only see on a pig farm. It stinks!

Why am I being robbed of £180 per year for this muck? My Netflix subscription only costs me £72 per annum. I want recent films, thrilling dramas or interesting documentaries and I’d like to see them before I go to bed thank you very much, particularly during the working week which means prior to 10 pm.

I also want choice! Scrap the TV licence altogether then completely re-engineer the Beeb. In my ideal TV world, I would:

Set up a dedicated BBC sports channel so that anything which involves a bat/ball/cue/dart/racket or other form of physical exertion are removed from everyday viewing and broadcast to those peeps who are genuinely interested.

Same goes for all that reality tripe that gets served up daily. These types of programmes only fit for viewers with the IQ of a bag of compost would be consigned to a dedicated BBC Entertainment channel and taken off terrestrial TV altogether.

I would also set up a subscription service for BBC iPlayer so that those who do want to watch Beeb programmes pay for it.  It would be competitively priced to rival Prime or Netflix and be considerably cheaper than it is now.

Leave a basic free terrestrial service covering news, documentaries and kids TV and fund this by commercial advertising revenues like all the other channels do. This new Basic Beeb to include social education programmes covering topics such as finance, investing, fraud protection, DIY, gardening,travel and wellbeing.

Scrap this TV tax I say!! Its no longer serving the purpose in today’s modern streaming society where consumers want to pick what to watch and when to watch it. No-one really has time to sit down all evening to view stuff even more so when there’s nothing especially good to see. Most of us just want to ‘binge’ when it comes to watching telly, filling our heads with a never-ending glut of soaps or serials.

As there’s nothing worthwhile on the box, the other half and I have created the Independence Day Game which basically involves putting a pound in a pot every time this movie or its sequel is broadcast. To give you an idea of how often this film gets repeated, there’s already a fiver in the jam jar.

How often is this film shown on telly?

If Independence Day doesn't float your boat then try the Men In Black franchise but be warned, you may end up bankrupt as these movies get aired more than Lord Mandy's baggy white underpants.

Since Independence Day appears to be the go-to slot filler on pretty much every channel then looks like our replacement TV licence is going to be funded by repetition rather than by you.

YEAR OF THE HORSE

Joyous celebrations! 2026 is the Year of the Horse, a kind of Chinese Auld Nags Syne. 

Quick, speed dial the 'chinky'. Whoops! Forgot we can’t say that anymore. Scrub that last sentence, replace with – telephone the purveyor of Oriental world cuisine. I’ll have Singapore noodles, spare ribs with a side of sweet and sour chicken balls. Don’t spare the horses though, I’m starving!!

What sort of horsey year will 2026 turn out to be, I wonder? Let’s see what’s in my fortune cookie…

I can predict the future

Will it be a Red Rum sort of year? Yay or neigh? By some peculiar quirk of fate, this load of jockeys in charge of the country might actually smash the gangs, boost growth and lower our energy bills in an unprecedented grand national triple win much like our four-legged hero did back in the 70s. Don’t bet on any winnings from this ‘acca’ any time soon says the cookie.

Red Rum - three times Grand National winner

My second cookie predicts a Shergar scenario where our once mighty ‘island of strangers’ (he said it not me) mysteriously disappears, sunk by a tidal wave of protests, pollution and poverty. No-one ever did find out what happened to this infamous nag. By the same token, no-one is ever likely to pin-point exactly where it all went wrong for Britain.

Whatever happened to Shergar?

And a third cookie (munch, munch) reveals hot-to-trot fortunes may well turn out to be a Mr Ed. Muppet Miliband wakes in the shower one morning to find that all his crazy net zero schemes were just a bad dream. As he soaps his nether regions, he wonders if the pits have re-opened, Government coffers are flowing with revenue generated from North Sea fossil fuels or Britain’s motor industry is booming thanks to increased production of petrol cars. Hang on, was that all a dream?

Trust me - I'll bring down your energy bills

Bollocks! I’ve just dropped a sauce-smeared chicken ball onto the keyboard. This is what happens when you’re lunching and blogging on the hoof.

These fortune cookies are so scrummy though, I’m just going to have to continue chomping my way through the entire box until I’ve uncovered a fortuitous prediction featuring golden unicorns or a sure-fire winner in the 3.30 at Kempton Park.

Mmmm - bloody tasty!

Happy Year of the Horse to you all!

WOOD PANELS - KINKY BIT

If ever there was a need for something kinky to take our minds off this awful wet weather, our lack of medals in the winter Olympics or the continual scraping of the political barrel in a bid to oust Hanging-on-by-an-ear Keir then this is it.

Rally the DIY troops, unexpected sunshine forecast. There’s not a moment of timber cutting time to lose!

Wood panelling efforts are now directed to the corridor’s kinky bit which we’ve saved until last.

OMG - this looks difficult

Getting kinky

This kinky corner section is made up of 3 separate wall areas, none of them equal in size so any attempts to make things look symmetrical are well and truly out of the window. You can only do your best with what you’ve got to work with.

As before, beginning at the bottom then working up each section. Start by dry fitting the bottom horizontal rail, cutting out individual pieces to accommodate electric sockets or other sticking out items.

Begin at the bottom

To get everything to flow neatly round the kinks, the other half has created a mitred edge on one end of each long horizontal piece. I hope to disguise these unsightly joins with a ton of decorator’s caulk.

Sort of mitred joints to get round the corner

Add your vertical side pieces to each of the larger sections followed by mitred top pieces to create two big squares. In a photo both squares look almost the same size but there is about a 10 cm difference in the width of each one. I guess I could have fiddled with the width of the vertical pieces to try to get round this but as I want to keep everything looking the same then I’m just going to leave it as it is.

Create each side square section first

You might have noticed that I've not added vertical pieces to the smaller middle square. On the dry fit, I did put some in but it left a ridiculously tiny area in the middle which would have made the whole panel run look odd so executive decision taken to not use additional verticals on this bit.

Finish each square with pine mouldings

Finish the middle section with a horizontal rail then add pine frame mouldings to the inside edge of each square section. Looks better than I thought it would do and aside from the mitred MDF joins, not as complicated as I anticipated.

Top with pine bead

Top all three sections with thin pine bead and dado rail then caulk every gap to within an inch of its life.

Caulk every single gap

Add dado rail

Our kinky bit finished. It’s a miracle - not a tear shed or a voice raised this time. Must be this glorious sunshine or perhaps it’s the Valentines Day effect. Kiss, kiss. Hug, hug. Darling, pass me the glue gun. Yes, Honey Bun.

Kinky bit finished and ready for priming

WOOD PANELS - RAD WALL

Just how much more rain is going to fall? Having seen off not-so-dry January, it now looks like flood-alert February is going to continue to bring more of the same.

Quite frankly, I’m sick of getting soaked to the skin on the daily walk home from work and only wish that the British climate would hurry up and change for something a little more equatorial, less aquatic. At this rate, I’ll be swapping walking boots for an inflatable kayak as many roads round these parts have turned into urban reservoirs or been closed altogether.

Since gardening is temporarily off the agenda, attention has turned to the unfinished wood panelling project begun before Christmas. Yes, where was I on that one?

Ah, the long radiator wall. On the face of it, this looks fairly straight forward now the rad has been removed but now that I’ve had a closer look then perhaps not.

BEFORE - the rad wall

What I'm hoping for on this wall

For starters there’s the pipework, BT box and fibre optic broadband cable to factor in along the bottom rail. I’ve had to carefully plot the location of these on the lower pieces of MDF then cut out shaped sections to accommodate them. Do this first as you will not be able to dry fit anything until the lower sections can be neatly positioned.

Template and cut round any fixtures

Secondly, the wall is long. Over 3.5 metres long. Most timber or MDF sheets are sold in 2.4 metre lengths so to maintain the overall symmetry, the wall has been divided into two equal sections with all measurements being calculated from a central point for the longer horizontal pieces. Draw a line down the wall at this central point.

Once the shaped horizontal rails have been stuck in place at the bottom of the wall, position the first vertical panels at either end of the entire wall. I have used 5 verticals in total in the design of this section.

Using the middle line drawn down the wall, centre the third vertical panel across the line and stick in place.

Stick end and middle vertical pieces in place

Measure the available gap between the end panel and the central vertical panel. Divide in two to arrive at the mid-point then draw another line down the wall. Do the same on both sides. These pencil lines will mark the place at which the remaining two vertical panels are centred.

Voila – all vertical panels should be evenly spaced along the wall giving a nice symmetrical look to things.

Five evenly spaced vertical pieces

Finally, stick the two horizontal rails on top of the vertical panels taking care that these join together in the middle of the vertical piece.

Horizontal pieces joined across centre vertical

As before I have finished the panels with some pine moulding inserted into each square section, cut to form a neat frame with mitred corners.

Add pine mouldings to each square

Topping the entire section with a length of pine stripwood from B & Q:

Pine stripwood used to cap MDF

Then finished off with Cheshire Mouldings dado rail as it’s been almost impossible to find a rebated dado rail that would fit neatly on the top of the MDF horizontal pieces.

Dado moulding stuck on top of the stripwood

Lastly, lightly sand any bits sticking out of panel joins then use decorators caulk to fill any unsightly gaps.  Re-sand the caulked joints once dry.  Hurrah!  At last the rad wall is ready for priming.

TRUE FRIENDSHIP

Much is being made in the media of Lord Mandy’s and a whole host of other people’s friendship to defunct paedophile Jeffrey Epstein but instead of using this opportunity to be judgy or scandal-monger, why don’t we ask ourselves this - what is the meaning of true friendship?

Freddie Mercury had the right idea when he sang:

Friends will be friends
When you're through with life and all hope is lost
Hold out your hand 'cause friends will be friends
Right till the end

Miss you Freddie

Real friends will hold out a hand regardless of whether that recipient is Jeffrey Epstein or someone else. You don’t drop friends just because they’ve committed some transgression or other. I mean, who among us is perfect? And who are we to judge why it is that people choose to stand by their friends even when society has labelled that person a monster.

I’m not condoning the actions of either Epstein or Lord Mandy. They’ve done what they did for reasons best known to themselves but what I’m saying is that if you value yourself as a true friend to someone then surely that means sticking by them through thick or thin and not dropping them like a hot potato because an unpleasant side to their character has come to light that you didn’t know about or because the world at large is tarring everyone beknown to that individual with the same brush.

‘To err is human, to forgive divine’ as the proverb goes. You can’t profess to know all the inner workings of your friends. We can all make errors of judgement when it comes to assessing people’s characters because there’s no tick box form out there that is used to select friends. Generally, you gravitate to those who support, love or encourage you in your endeavours. And of course, sometimes you get it wrong.

But when you do, surely you can find it in your heart to forgive if you value their friendship both past, present and as Freddie said, right to the end.

True friends of Lord Mandy are not likely to berate him for his choice of non-fashionable undies paraded across the tabloids like After Eight mints handed round the dinner table following a gut busting supper. Instead, I hope they’ll try to understand what prompted him to buy such awful baggy white under-crackers and steer him to trendier choices going forward. Selling state secrets for cash though, that probably is unforgivable even if he is a friend.

Mandy Pants

Epstein died over 5 years ago yet still we’re obsessing over him. He did what he did. He ruined a lot of lives. The continual muck-raking is still ruining a lot of lives. Why must we keep digging through his crusty old laundry basket looking for even more musty old linen to air in public?  Hasn't enough damage been already done?

I hope that given time, all victims will find peace in their hearts and the inner strength to move on with their lives.  

SPANIEL EARS

Peeling off my sodden togs after another squelchy walk home from work, I happened to notice that my pair of once pert juicy grapefruits were hanging down despondently like a couple of deflated balloons.

‘Spaniel ears’ as one of the more raucous members of our team calls them every time the topic of conversation veers round to the joys of old age or dieting.

What happens to boobs as you age

As I gaze down at these two sad puppies, it also dawns on me that the pair are not symmetrically matched either. One side is definitely larger than the other which means that my very own planetary orbit has been on a tilt since puberty. Gravity is most certainly not your bestie once you hit 50 and has definitely slung its hook after 60.

If that wasn’t bad enough, my former furry friend is now looking more and more like a mangy bedraggled badger than an under-pruned lady bush. Grey hairs it seems are not just confined to your bonce. There’s no escaping the fact that getting old is truly a physically sorry state of affairs.

Rather than splashing the cash on MDF for wood panelling maybe I should instead use the funds to implement my own levelling up agenda. A few well aimed tweaks here or there could turn these south-facing spaniel ears into a magnificent pair of sit-up-and-beg pedigree chums. If only I could find a few thousand quid stuffed down the back of the sofa.

Everything's gone south

All the chest presses in the world aren’t going to cure these bad boys any time soon so I guess its going to be a case of just making the most of the best window dressing available plus a few mechanically engineered bras to keep these spaniel ears looking as perky as possible.

WORK IS NOT THE ENEMY

And this week’s gold medal in the Tabloid Winter Olympics goes to The Times for giving me a hernia-inducing belly laugh.

The Your-Having-A-Laugh Medal

Seriously though I was almost reaching for the Tena Lady after reading an article entitled ‘Here’s Why You Shouldn’t Touch Your Pension Lump Sum in Your Fifties.’

Gold medal journalism

The last time I had such a monumentally hysterical fit of the giggles was during the cowboy fart scene in Blazing Saddles. You know the one. Still brings tears to my eyes even thinking about it today.

So, what was it about this article that tickled my fancy? It was mostly the paragraph headed up ‘Work Isn’t the Enemy’ and the advice that reframing how you perceive your job is perhaps better than taking early retirement. You’re kidding, right?

Well, as one who is on the cusps of taking early retirement then I’ll quantify why I’m not going to be reframing my perception of work any time soon with just one word – Boxer.

Have you read Animal Farm, Bec? Yes? No? If you haven’t then perhaps you’ll be interested to learn what happened to Boxer.

Boxer from Animal Farm by George Orwell

Boxer was Animal Farm’s cart-horse, strong of heart and hoof. His mantra ‘I will work harder’ is probably what lead to his eventual sticky downfall. Almost killed from years of overwork whilst building a windmill, Boxer continued to slave away on the belief that after all his hard work he’d eventually be retired and put out to pasture. Unfortunately for poor Boxer, he was betrayed by his greedy fat pig paymasters who having exploited him to the nth degree, sold him to the Knackers Yard once he was no longer able to perform.

And this Boxer principle is probably why so many of us choose to take early retirement once we can afford to because working yourself into the ground only to be betrayed by the fat pig paymasters (Government) who promise you the world in exchange for continued tax payments is not what we signed up for.

Like Boxer, my body is already physically broken with painful ailments affected by repetitive actions such as keyboarding, prolonged periods of sitting or having to deal with stressful workplace situations. It would be daft not to avail myself of the Get-Out-Of-Jail pension card as that’s my only hope of having a fighting chance of being able to enjoy my golden years before I end up being sold to the Knackers.

For me and many other ‘Boxers’ out there, it simply isn’t a case of finding a different job or re-framing our perceptions of employment but having the freedom to choose the path of our own destiny.

The article goes on to say that early retirement may not be all it’s cracked up to be. And how do you know this? Did you survey millions of people who took early retirement for feedback on whether they felt better for leaving the rat race? No, I guess not.

I didn't let pension rules dictate my life decision because I’m one of those obstinate people who rarely take notice of what others tell me I should be doing with my life. I prefer to make my own informed decisions based on a good deal of research, spreadsheets and number crunching.

Early retirement is what you make it – same as the rest of the time that’s lead up to this point. If you don’t think you can find stuff to do to take the place of employment then by all means, keep at it but I’ll tell you this – work WILL NOT set you free.

ECONOMICALLY INACTIVE

Countdown to doing nothing has officially begun. In around 2 months I will be joining the ranks of those deemed ‘economically inactive’ by the Treasury. Do I care? Not one jot! I’ve paid into the coffers for over 43 years, enough is enough.

Cash poor, time rich that’ll be me. The thought of having nothing to do after a lifetime of employment is actually quite a scary prospect. Work defines many of us. We have careers, companies, colleagues. Discussing what has or hasn’t happened in the office on any given day is our lifeblood so what happens when all of that disappears into the ether? I guess I’m about to find out.

Like a political party, I can already feel my brain splitting itself into two camps; the Yahoo-I’m-Finally-Free faction and the Not-A Moment-to-Lose faction.

The Yahoos are relishing the prospect of total unfettered freedom. The freedom to do what you want, when you want and with no-one to answer to. Captain of the good ship Idleness sailing the seas of laissez-faire. I can hibernate all winter long if I choose to. Unkempt, unwashed and unconcerned about anything other than the time of my next cuppa.

I’ll have so much time on my hands that for once I’ll be able to squander it. Guilt free! Time rich. Time can’t be taxed so I’ll be a High Time Worth Individual, a multi-minute millionaire with complete freedom to do as little as possible. No more getting up at 6.30 am to join the rat race.

On the other hand, the Not-A-Moment-to-Lose part of my brain is drawing up a To Do list of mammoth proportions because essentially, it’s following the mantra that if you stop, you die.

Like drawing up a bucket list, this is a list of all those things I always said I’d do on retirement which in my case was take up photography or oil painting. I’ve set aside a notebook to jot down all those ‘been meaning to do this’ projects so I can race into retirement with a master plan that leaves little room for boredom or the desire to return to the rank and file.

Already on the To-Do-In-Retirement List or POSER Plan are the following:

• Complete wall panelling downstairs
• Rip up old corridor carpet for replacement flooring
• Take up wild water swimming
• Consider joining the local WI group
• Dig large hole in garden for a pond
• Finish itinerary for a trip to east coast of Australia
• Do more volunteering
• Buy a sketch book and have an art attack
• Climb Snowdonia
• Gardening, gardening and more gardening
• Become a Super-Blogger
• Sign up for those free local council Heart Smart walks

And that’s just for starters because as all of us compulsive ‘A-listers’ know, once you start listing stuff it just goes on and on and on …

With all of the above to be getting on with, I really don’t see where I’d have time to fit a job into the equation so it’s just as well I won’t need to.

POUNDLAND'S DEMISE

Killer! Murderer! Assassin! Me and millions like me have dealt Poundland a fatal death blow. Et Tu Brute. I’ve as good as stuck the knife in.

These were my thoughts as I mooched round the already plundered aisles of Chichester’s soon-to-be-closed-down Poundland like a scavenging vulture looking for a carcass to pick clean. As sure as eggs is eggs, I’m one of many who have contributed to the demise of this popular retail emporium.

Bye bye Poundland - I'll miss you

How can one tiny person bring down such a commercial colossus? By being lazy, that’s how.

Modern technology has spawned a nation of indolent shoppers for whom taking a trip to town to buy toiletries, clothing or anything has become nothing more than an inconvenience. Why bother to get dressed, sit in traffic, stress over where to park the car or jostle with the great unwashed in cramped shops that don’t respect your personal space when you can just purchase whatever you like from the comfort of your laptop or smartphone? For many of us, shopping means major mental trauma.

Not only is online shopping easier or quicker but you can also use websites such as Trolley.co.uk to look for the cheapest price rather than trudge endlessly round squinting at price stickers or having your ankles smashed by trolleys/buggies driven by inconsiderate idiots who fail to grasp that two objects cannot occupy the same space unless they’re in a parallel dimension. Plus, some gumby gets to bring your purchases straight to the front door freeing up even more time for a spot of cyber-bingo or electronic celebrity undressing.

Supermarkets and other retailers are happy to encourage laziness since online deliveries/click & collect have become a multi-million pound industry.  They're making money hand-over-fist from the bone idle so they're not likely to be that bothered about the impact on the ever-dwindling high street.

Multiply one person’s laziness by millions of shoppers and you’ll understand why Britain’s High Streets are slowly disappearing, sucked dry by the commercial vampire that is internet shopping. We’re all guilty of killing off our town centres. Poundland won’t be the last chain to be garrotted by idleness.

In addition to that ‘can’t be arsed’ attitude that’s decimating our shopping precincts, shopper habits in general have probably changed in response to the current economic climate and other factors. I know mine have.

Being a self-confessed Super Scrimper, I no longer pop out for the odd trip to town, preferring instead to shop in bulk usually online. I keep a beady eye on prices then when I spot what I feel is a bargain, I buy a large quantity of that product. Take toiletries for example. Not for me the odd tube of toothpaste or can of deodorant stuck in with the weeks shopping. When I need this type of thing I get at least 6 tubes or cans or enough to tide me over for several months. In this way I can lock in that bargain price thus creating a cushion against the risk of future price increases in the market.

Same goes for laundry or cleaning products. At the start of each year, I ‘forecast’ how much detergent, washing up liquid or fabric softener I might need for the next 6-12 months then I wait for supermarket offers on these items. When the price is right, I stock up. It’s why my understairs cupboard always looks like a subsidiary of Poundland because bulk buying enables me to take advantage of economies of scale. Always keep a smaller pack/container in use which can be easily refilled from larger ones.

For those of you out there thinking ‘what a saddo’ well you may be right but I’ve always felt that if you look after the pennies, you don’t need to worry about the pounds. Must be all those years working in investment banking.

And so, this is how I’ve helped to kill Poundland and loads of other retail establishments by being a weirdo shopper who buys things online. 

Sorry to see Poundland go from Chi’s High Street. No doubt it’ll be replaced with yet another café, pizza parlour or expensive up-market chain that’s of little use to anyone other than the super-rich.

A PROSPEROUS RETIREMENT

I’ve decided to stop using the term ‘retirement’ as that sounds like the ill-awaited fate for knackered racehorses. Instead, I shall be referring to my golden years as the Period of Self Enlightenment or POSE for short seeing as everything is reduced to acronym form these days.

I plan to become a POSER before the end of the current tax year. But that’s no-where near the state retirement age I hear you gasp in amazement; how will you do it?

Indeed, how can I become a POSER without claiming a state pension? Simply by saving today so I can live for tomorrow. Not easy when I’m throwing cash around at the timber merchants like knickers at a Tom Jones concert but there are plenty of ways to build a POSER foundation without locking my purse away deep in the vaults of Fort Knox.

If I could re-wind the clock to give my younger self some good advice it would be this – if your company doesn’t offer a defined benefit (final salary) pension scheme, don’t enrol in a pension but save that money in a cash ISA instead.

Outrageous advice! Fund Managers out there are no doubt sharpening knives, lighting torches and grabbing pitchforks from their garden sheds ready to roast me on a skewer like a juicy kofta kebab over a nice hot flame. Pension Advisers would deride such foolhardy notions, citing guff about tax relief given on pension contributions by the Government but to my mind they are only keen on seducing workers into defined contribution schemes because it keeps them in jobs and extends our taxpayer lifespans.

What is a decently funded retirement anyway? Well, that depends on your perspective and aspirations. A study done at Loughborough University claims that a single person will need at least £31,300 a year for a moderate income in retirement according to a pensions industry body (who?). The least you’ll need is £14,400 per annum on which to live and the most around £43,100. What I’d like to know is what are these figures based on?

The key omission of Loughborough’s interesting reportage failed to mention whether these figures were pre-tax or after tax because the key to a prosperous retirement is knowing all about TAX, what you’ll pay, when you’ll pay it and how to ensure you pay as little as is legally possible.

Let’s take the figure mentioned above of £31,300 a year and break it down further. For my example I’m going to assume that this is pre-tax income made up of the current annual state pension of £11,973 plus a private pension of £19,327. (You’d need a massive private pension pot to generate an annual income of £19,327 per annum).

You would pay zero tax on the whole of your state pension BUT because the combined income is greater than the current personal income tax allowance of £12,570 then you would be liable for tax on £18,730 which at the basic rate of 20% means you’d have to give the Revenue £3,746 leaving a net annual income of £27,554.

Whilst the remainder of your pension pot continues to stay invested then in addition to tax on your future annual drawdowns, you’d also be paying fund management charges that would be eating into your capital. Remember too that monies invested in a pension fund are subject to the vagaries of the stock market which may go up or down depending on which way the wind is blowing and that will in turn affect the total value of your pot. In bad or volatile markets, the value of your pot may plummet thus potentially affecting how much you have available to draw down from your pension in any given year.

Now in my crazy retro scenario, I’ve gone back in time like a pirate Time Lord raided all my private pension schemes and placed the money into a cash ISA instead. OK so I may not have benefitted from potential market rises or tax relief but my invested capital has remained secure, safely weathered every conceivable political/financial crisis and steadily grown in its very own tax-free wrapper.

Supposing that I’ve managed to grow my cash ISA pot to the same value as a defined contribution pension pot then let’s revisit the above example to see if I would be better off. State pension £11,973 tax free as under the tax threshold and £18,730 drawn from the ISA also tax free so £3,746 pounds plus fund management charges better off.

What’s more I can continue to save into a cash ISA without fear of breaching any pension lifetime allowances and landing myself with a huge tax headache.

The pensions industry will try to emotionally blackmail us with crap about inflation and how money in a cash ISA is worth less over time. However, £20 is still £20 regardless of whether you get it from an ISA account or a pension fund. When I studied economics back in the 80’s, inflation measured the buying power of money NOT the rate at which prices rise, this now seems to be the popular definition used in the media. Inflation erodes the buying power of everyone’s money anyway you get it.

Clearly the University’s estimated pension figures must be skewed in favour of yuppy pensioners benefitting from generous civil service gold plated pensions since most of us will have failed to earn an annual salary of £31,300 or £43,100 in our career lifetimes. My best wage only topped £32,000 and that was after about 30 years of employment.

The key to a prosperous retirement is to manage expectations and live within your means. Don’t be seduced by mass consumerism or pension preachers. Sounds boring but not impossible. Most single POSERs could still get a lot out of the minimal amount quoted of £14,400 if they re-examined their outgoings and gave up fags, booze, subscription services, takeaways, online gambling, tattoos and expensive holidays/smartphones.

Don’t believe the hype – you can retire on a lot less than £31,300 and still have a bloody good life. After all, I’ve lived on a part-time salary much smaller than the state pension for the past 5 years and still found the cash to pay for food, festivals and McFlurries.

BYE BYE WORKPLACE

Although there’s still two months before I skip off into the early retirement sunset, I’ve already drawn up a letter announcing my departure intentions which I’ll present to my manager like an early Easter egg. Haven’t you bought yours yet? They’ve been in the shops since 5 January so no excuses.

Legally obliged to give only a months’ notice, I’m generously giving my employer two whole months in which to procrastinate as I’ve yet to experience a workplace where replacement staff are recruited in a timely manner that allows the current incumbent to train up their successor.

And that of course is assuming that there will be a successor because past experience also shows that many companies choose to leave posts vacant for a period in order to achieve headcount budget saves and don’t really care if your colleagues have to absorb your workload on top of their own in the meantime.

The more devious companies use early retirements as a good excuse for a complete departmental restructure that generally results in more work for the same pay on a permanent basis and also generates ongoing savings on employer on-costs which are then spaffed on director bonuses, client schmoosing or some nonsensical bit of office kit you didn’t know you needed.

I hope my replacement is the Usain Bolt of data input, has the patience of a saint, zero initiative, and enjoys being micro-managed because these are the key attributes required to fit into my role.

Whilst there is no career progression as such or guarantee of an annual pay rise, you can dress casually, listen to the radio all day long and enjoy the delights of a Turner’s pie delivered to your desk every Christmas. Even the chancellor can’t tax these perks which albeit small, add to a pleasant working environment.

The key to a good leaving letter in my view is to ensure you don’t burn bridges because if retirement becomes one long bore, you may wish to return to your old job. Are there any statistics out there to quantify how many people have done this? Keep it brief, free of personal gripes or company criticisms and thank them.

What???  Yes, thank your employer for giving you the opportunity to sit there and take shit. It’s polite and after all whatever you might think of them, they gave you a chance when perhaps no-one else would. Plus I’m sure that most people have given as much shit back to their employers as they’ve taken during their working lives so it’s only fair to show some degree of gratitude.

By all means throw in all those insincere platitudes – I’ll miss you (no I won’t), I’ve enjoyed working here (really?), I’ll pop in to say hello (come on, nobody ever goes back) and keep in touch (I never want to hear from you buggers ever, ever, ever again!).  Best to just keep it simple.

In the past I’ve always handed over my letters of resignation on a Friday. This is not a deliberate ploy on my part to ensure my manager has a stressful weekend but because as an ex-manager, office custom and practice is to deliver bad news on Fridays.

You’re sacked/redundant/being replaced by a robot or a 12 year old who knows how to use social media – all of these scenarios are communicated at the end of the week so as to cause the least disruption in the workplace. No tears, tantrums or toys thrown out of the pram for 5 days because all those human emotions that accompany bad news then take place on your own dime. By the time Monday rolls round, your resignation is old news and pragmatic plans can then be put in place so that office life can continue as before.

There’s always an element of both nervousness and sadness in handing over the missive but it should always be done in person. No cowardly leaving the letter on the desk when your boss has nipped out for a latte/slash or to chat up the totty in the team next door.

Experience shows that after the deed is done there’s generally an embarrassing silence, some well wishing but never a great deal of chat; both of you are just sat there hoping the moment will quickly pass so you can get back to your spreadsheets.

BACK TO BLIGHTY

Overseas business concluded, back home in dear old Blighty, a country of cold, complaining and crises. Who wouldn’t want to live in sunny Spain all winter? I for one would quite happily hibernate here from October to April each year given half the chance and a lottery win.

Something that’s hard to explain is that although British by birth and having lived pretty much all my life in the UK, there’s a part of me that always feels like I’ve returned home when visiting Spain. I just can’t put my finger on it. A switch flips in my head bringing out the Mediterranean in me. And when the locals accost me in the street to ask for directions then it becomes even more obvious that they think I’m one of them, not some gringo from foreign parts. Not that I can help them in any way as I’ve no idea where anything is but it’s really rather nice to be asked.

Alas, all good things come to an end and it’s probably no bad thing. There’s a reason why you leave home in your younger years; it doesn’t change as you get older. Everyone knows parents will drive you mad sooner or later, mine are no exception.  I now need a holiday to get over this holiday!

Besides which I have a long list of stuff to return to such as continuing the wood panelling project I started before Christmas plus getting my head round this new concept called retirement.

CONSUMER CONFIDENCE

The beauty of the internet is that whilst the fogeys take a post-lunch siesta in the Spanish sunshine, I can keep a beady on what’s going on at home.

Today’s BBC website featured an article on consumer confidence containing a statement that piqued my interest:

Older Britain is sat on its savings, despondent about the country and the economy, refusing to spend its money and weighing down GDP, even as pay rises for workers remain higher on average than the rate of inflation.

Seeing as I have nothing better to do in temperatures that today are above 20 degrees then let’s pick apart the various components of this statement.

Sat on Savings – Why is older Britain hoarding cash? Because most of us grew up with the mantra of saving for that proverbial ‘rainy day’. A mindset of ensuring you have enough money put by for potential emergencies or in case one day you have to pay for extortionate care homes, private medical treatments, vets fees, car repairs etc etc. I mean who doesn’t wince every time the garage drops a vehicular atom bomb during the annual MOT advising that your car needs a million and one replacement parts?

Boomers and the like also stash cash towards retirement, those extra pennies for comforts such as hobnobs, heating or holidays. Is this a bad thing? Not for you or I but certainly not good for the UK’s consumerist economy. However, now pensioners are about to fall into tax traps that could soon change.

Despondent about country and economy – Honestly, there’s little to be cheerful about these days. The tabloids are full of wars, hatred and hard luck stories. Bad news sells. Negativity spreads. What with the nation’s economy being pinged about in an economic pinball machine and more political U-turns than the magic roundabout, is it any wonder we’re not skipping round looking for unicorns?

Refusing to spend – Being a Super Scrimper I feel well qualified to tackle this one. If it ain’t broke, why replace it? It’s not that I’m refusing to spend my money, it’s just that the little money I have is spent WISELY. 

Not on frivolities, unnecessary gadgets, gizmos or generally pissed up against the wall on nothingness. I don’t need to keep up with the Joneses. Happy to drive an old banger, use a prehistoric brick phone, watch an ancient TV, keep my consumables in a dilapidated but functioning fridge or wear clothes that have survived decades of unfashionable trends. I paint my own nails, administer my own facials, shave my bits and get local college students to give me cheap haircuts stretching my part-time salary like one of those pilates exercise bands.

My one and only luxury is a monthly subscription to a local gym because us oldies need to keep fit to save the NHS the hassle of having to continually patch us up with cable ties and gaffer tape.

Yeah, I’m proud to be the consumerist economy’s worst nightmare because in doing so, I know I’m not contributing to the mountain of waste produced by those that feel the need to replace new things every 2-3 years regardless of whether they need to or not. A situation I might add that is deliberately engineered by those who prey on gullible suckers they know will succumb to consumerist FOMO. Not me, amigo.

Weighing down GDP – I know I need to shift a few kilos off the midriff but just how am I weighing down GDP? I think that accolade should be ascribed to the Treasury/current or previous Governments whose policies have resulted in zero productivity, high unemployment, rampant inflation, industry and wealth fleeing abroad. If anyone’s weighing down GDP then look to the FAT cats who take everything out but never put anything back in.

Pay rises higher than inflation – You’re having a laugh! Hands up who in the private sector received a pay rise this year or last? And pray tell us if it was more than 3.2% which was the UK's current inflation rate as measured by the Consumer Prices Index (CPI) in November 2025. 

I am still waiting for such a pay rise or in fact any pay rise, non-existent because our company pleaded poverty ever since the Chancellor clobbered businesses with higher NI costs and increases to the national living wage. Clearly this largely applies to PUBLIC sector pay rises and was conveniently overlooked by the Beeb.

And when you consider this last point, is it any wonder then that folks are hoarding cash, despondent, refusing to spend? I mean it’s bleeding obvious. Less pay, no jobs, less scope to do anything.

If you want to read this priceless piece of journalistic licence then here it is in all its glory:

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/c150leql9pgo