It's sad to see people who have taken early retirement, or accepted generous redundancy packages, return to work after a year or two.
Instead of endless leisure time and the opportunity to do those things they always wanted to do but never had the time to do them, they come back, tales between legs and dreams of utopia long since shattered under the weight of debt and boredom.
However, for those who reach actual retirement age and are unlucky enough to spend their twilight years in the British wilderness, an even worse fate awaits them, for no longer will they have the opportunity to fend off the inevitable avalanche of debt and escape the tedium of nothingness by creeping back to work. They will be truly lost in the wilderness and the only signposts they will see will be pointing towards poverty, boredom, decrepitude and loneliness.
This is the stark reality of living in Britain, where if you want a half-decent life you must work for as long as you can and where work serves as a means of escape from the debilitating boredom of the British wilderness. But, before you know it, you'll probably be too decrepit to do anything after retirement anyway, so, you'll be destined to spend the rest of your miserable life sitting by the fire in the lounge (assuming you can still afford the cost of gas or electricity), watching television or staring at the wall. Or you can spend most of your time in bed, waiting for the Grim Reaper to put you out of your misery.
Arabs and other foreigners reading this blog and unaccustomed to the British way of life will probably utter some nonsense such as "My children will take care of me." Dream on! For if your children were raised in this God-foresaken country they will probably do as the native British children do.
Your beloved children, dear compatriots and other foreigners, will leave home at the earliest opportunity, probably to do nothing worthy of mention. And, if you have become so decrepit that you can no longer look after yourself, they will seek to throw you into an old people's home, where you will spend your remaining years sitting in a circle with other discarded elderly people, saying nothing and doing nothing, until the Grim Reaper takes pity on you and relieves you of your misery. In the meantime, your little darlings will either try to persuade you to sell your home and give them the proceeds, or they will wait and pray for you to die so they can get the inheritance – and probably waste it on rubbish.
You might want to ask why am I writing this and what solution am I proposing?
I am writing this because it is a painful truth which, I am sure, most people know in their heart of hearts but prefer not to face up to or think about. As always, there are of course exceptions but, by definition, they are few and far between. Furthermore, this is not peculiar to Britain; however, it is more socially acceptable in Britain than in my part of the world, for instance.
And my solution? If you want to live, have and raise children and retire in Britain, there is no solution.You are more likely than not to experience the scenario I have outlined above. It's tough but it's true. However, if you try to control your destiny and escape from the British wilderness at the earliest opportunity, then you may still have a life to live.
We all make mistakes; that is not a crime, it's just human. But not to correct a mistake at the first opportunity is worse than a crime: it's plain stupid.
