Money Troubles

Yesterday I decided to try and be all clever and grown-up and listen to the Budget.

I know! What was I thinking?

Actually, some of it was good. I liked the shouty bits where everyone starting laughing and jeering. I even joined in a couple of times.

But the talky bits... well... they weren't so good. "Tax Relief... blah blah blah... Stamp Duty... blah blah blah... ISA's blah blah blah blah blah..."

I'm 41, I'm a dad and I have a university degree. I probably ought to be interested in all this stuff. But, in truth, I'd rather watch seven hours of golf. And I hate golf.

The only good bits were when they started having a bit of a barney about whose fault everything was and what they were going to do about it. But even that felt a bit like listening to your mum and dad have an argument.

All married couples know that financial problems are the source of many a good row. We've all stood there in the kitchen with our loved one, arguing the toss about who spent what and where all the credit card debt came from. He wants to invest the savings in a new flat screen TV - she wants to blow it all on shoes for the kids. And food. And the gas bill.

Well, the Budget was a bit like that. And, like all marital tiffs, it wasn't pretty. I mean I know Cameron was a bit upset but I couldn't help feeling that a lot of what he was saying wasn't strictly fair or even true. But then Darling did seem a bit shifty - like a man who's been caught watching the next door neighbour sunbathing. In the end I felt like a confused child, waiting for the break-up and wondering who I was going to end up having to live with.

At first, Alistair "the husband" Darling tried the old soft soap approach. He admitted that times were going to be a bit hard - not that that was anyone's fault - times were hard for everyone. But he said that, basically, it would all come out in the wash and there was nothing to worry about. We just had to leave it to him and everything would be alright. "It's not all doom and gloom," he said (I'm paraphrasing here, but sod it - I'm not Hansard), "there is some good news too." And he went on to tell us some things about mortgages and stamp duty and such like. (OK I admit I drifted off at that point).

Anyway, he said his piece and sat down and, for a minute at least, he seemed to have got away with it.

But he should have known better. Wifey Cameron went ruddy ballistic. "HAVE YOU SEEN HOW MUCH WE OWE?! One hundred and seventy five billion zillion squillion English pounds! And you want to go buying more stuff?!"

"But..but...'" stammered Darling, "... we need to invest in the country so people don't all lose their jobs."

"Oh, right!" yelled Cameron, "And where are you going to find the money for all that? Down the back of the sofa?"

"Well we could take out another loan...?"

"WHAT?!! No, I'm sorry. We have to tighten our belts. You're going to have to sell that record collection of yours. And a few hospitals... Actually, you know what? Why don't you just GO! Me and the kids will be better off without you. You can leave us to clear up your mess! As usual!"

(Which, to anyone who remembers the 80s, might seem a bit rich.)

Anyway, I don't think I'll bother listening to the budget again. I think I'll do what everyone else does and wait for the newspapers to explain it the next day. Somehow they manage to sum it all up in a paragraph: "Petrol's up. Alcohol's up. But if you've got seven kids, a donkey and you were born on a Tuesday, you can claim tax relief on any income earned from juggling fire, as long as you can be bothered to fill in a 72 page application form and queue for six hours."

I'll read the first few sentences of that. Then I'll turn to the sports pages and forget all about it.