From Casanova to coffin dodger...
STOP working? Me? Givowwer! What just happened?
Wey, somebody sent me a letter to tell me I should retire. I was not expecting it. I mean it was official like – not some abusive felt-tipped scribbling radgie exes push through your letterbox at 4AM after you have blocked their phones.
Thing is, I have no idea who they are or how the hell they knew I had turned 55. I mean, it was very kind of them to show concern, maybe they had seen the state of me after I had finished a recent six-hour drive for a York /Hull double-up.
I was more bent and damaged and knackered than the latest Brexit deal. By god they had a point, whoever they were. I have been working harder than an ugly stripper (of any or all genders, in case the Jesmondistas are reaching for the ‘offended’ button on their smartphone) for over 30 years, so maybe it is time to hang up me pistols.
Then I spotted the company name and address on the letterheads; an industrial estate in Runcorn with a company called ‘Retirement Income Pensions Organisation for Fiscal Futures – or RIP OFF to use their acronym.
My p*** artist and time-waster warning light began to flash. The manager was called Darren so I pictured a bloke my age with a mullet and a soup-stained tie – with three failed marriages and two bankruptcies under his belt – sitting in a leaky prefab with a 2012 Pirelli Calendar and an Acorn Archimedes for company.
So what were Dazza and co after in their seemingly caring letter?
They would only be of real use to me if they had sent a memo to remind me when it is wor lass’s birthday or when it is blue bin day if the Easter hols fall on a Tuesday.
As much as I did not want to disappoint such a great and benevolent philanthropist such as Darren in Runcorn, I had to inform him he had been beaten to my pension pot punch by a lovely lad in Nigeria or Belarus or somewhere exotic like that.
Apparently, this other total stranger from thousands of miles away also knew I was reaching retirement age and was kindly offering to ‘rest’ my retirement lump sum in their high interest bank account. What could go wrong?
Still, having scammers, crooks and chancers all over you like a cheap coat is not the only drawback of reaching pensionable age. I am sure readers of a certain age know what I am on about – only a few years ago I used to get emails and pop-ups alerting me a lonely mature lady only 3.7 miles away in Stanley needed some ‘no strings’ excitement at that very moment, or stunning Russian singles in search of marriage who were dying to meet me! Now it is the aforementioned retirement – or even worse –an offer to plan me own funeral! How the hell can I decline from Casanova to coffin dodger in only a few years? Even Teresa May’s political career did not go downhill so spectacularly.
Maybe there is a solution? How about I retire, then die – while using my pension pot to pay for a fabulous funeral with Russian singles and desperate Durham housewives as the mourners. The eulogy could be read by Darren from Runcorn quoting new government guidelines for accessing pension pots.
This could be followed with additional readings from the financial services regulatory guidance, delivered by my Nigerian and Belorussian scammers. The rest of my money would then go into the Governments pockets to subsidise the post-Brexit apocalypse.
Finally, younger readers need not be alarmed by this - as you will be working until you are 80!
■ MIKE will be performing at the Stand on Monday, April 29.
Having scammers, crooks and chancers all over you like a cheap coat isn’t the only drawback