Old People, and their houses, but first my pension provision.

Why do old people have such bad taste when it comes to interior decor?

I’ve been browsing the “Houses For Sale” web sites again, no we’re not thinking of moving again although come to think of it we’ve been in this house for four and a half years now which makes it almost the longest time we have ever stayed in one place, but I’m browsing out of idle curiosity.

OK, not quite idle curiosity, the other day we had the annual pension plan updates from Aviva who, having taken over the pension business from NatWest (NatWest having finally agreed with me that they are shit at providing investments for customers, christ knows what they think they are supposed to provide now), are now seemingly as shit at providing investment opportunities as the very shit NatWest were.

Both our pensions have reduced in value in the past year, ah yes you may well cry, but thats what investments do, thats what it says on the tin, and they might go back up next year and also pigs may start to fly as high as the sky.

Ah yes I may well cry back, but thats not what I want from a pension scheme, in fact I seem to recall that I may have said the self same thing to Andy Allen, our grinning NatWest “Personal Financial Advisor” back in the 1980s when he sat in our office grinning and assuring us that by the time I reached the age of 55 I’d be swimming in money, so much money would I have that I’d be embarrassed by my money and I’d have to retire and live in clover, in a financial situation beyond my wildest dreams – lying bastard.

Well perhaps not quite, for the financial situation, and in particular the pension situation so extolled by Mr Allen, is actually in a situation beyond my wildest dreams for not once as I gleefully handed over £300 a month to NatWest did I ever think that they’d piss it all up the wall on champagne and truffles for their lunchtime snacks or put it all on number 17 at the casino roulette table, no, I actually thought they’d “invest” it for me in my dotage.

By “invest” I mean that they’d encourage it to grow a little each year until I needed it to retire on and despite the grinning Mr Allen promising that I’d be retired already by now I didn’t really think that would be feasible, but 60 was a good target to aim at.

Currently my pension pot is predicted to garner an income for me at the age of 65, of £107 per month.

Thats per month by the way, per month, I just thought I’d reiterate that, £107 per month, £27 a week, I hardly know what to do with it, gosh, so this is how Sir Richard Branson feels is it, quick hand me those brochures for my own private Caribbean island before they’re all gone.

My wifes private pension is predicted to bring in the princely sum of £96 per month, thats per month again, per month, thats a joint income of £203 per month, we can hardly wait.

I could have invested that £300 a month myself in such a manner that would bring me £203 per month income – I’d have stuck it in a tin under the fucking bed and drawn it out £203 at a time.

See whats happened now, there’s no more room to discuss old people’s bad interior design now is there – back tomorrow.


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