‘Oi bruv, listen up innit, it’s ya boy Gazza Stevenson here, the one who made it big time back in the day. Yeah, I was that trader geezer, stackin’ mad P’s on the bond desk, livin’ the dream, flyin’ first class, birds everywhere, the full works…
But please bro, don’t even try it, yeah? I got rich but you never can do the same ‘cause I was a one-off, innit. Proper miracle, me. You lot? Nah. You’re stuck in the ends, scrapin’ by on zero-hour shifts, Universal Credit an’ dreams of a council flat upgrade. That’s just how it is now, bruv – the game’s rigged, the rich got all the ladders an’ you got the snakes. End of.
So what we gonna do about it? Tax the rich, that’s what! Hit ‘em where it hurts, take their yachts, their second gaffs in Marbella, their private jets – the lot. An’ while we’re at it, gimme some of that money too, yeah?
I mean, I’m one of the good ones now, ain’t I? I wrote the book, I do the talks, I’m on the telly tellin’ everyone how unfair it all is. But I still gotta eat, bruv. I still gotta keep the wolf from the door, keep the missus happy, keep the kids in private school so they don’t end up like you.
So bung us a tenner, or a grand, or whatever you can spare. Go on, means-test yourself, pay your bit. It’s for the greater good, innit. I’m tellin’ ya, if we don’t tax the rich proper – an’ by rich I mean anyone who’s got more than me right now – then you lot are proper screwed.
No hope, no future, just more Deliveroo gigs an’ Netflix on the electric that’s about to get cut off. But me? I’m the voice of the voiceless. I’m the one who escaped the matrix an’ came back to tell ya the door’s locked now…
So cough up, people. Donate to the cause. Subscribe to the channel. Buy the merch. Because we need to tax the rich… an’ I’m standin’ right ‘ere with me hand out, safe. You can’t make it like I did. I was special. You’re not. Simple as. Now gimme the money, bruv. For equality, yeah? For the kids. For the future. Please mate. Cheers Bro.’
Whoever it is, it’s very good. I’m guessing it’s written by Ant Throbbic
Gary Stevenson??
Loadsamoney? Tatiana McGrath? Dale Vince?
Must be a Grauniad columnist – who else would expect readers to be naive/stupid enough to think Gary Stevenson would boast about being a multi=millionaire and simultaneously need a hand-out
BiS? BiND?
Listening to him is the verbal equivalent of a drawing by an eight year old using a chunky crayon, drawn for a five year old to explain the workings of a nuclear power plant
Just some cunt.
I’m guessing it’s multi-millionaire with a Patreon, Gary Stephenson.
Here is an AI request for a column by you. I don’t think it’s much off the sort of thing you produce. So do you personally need to keep writing this stuff?
There is, I’ve noticed, a particular species of commentator—let us call him Richie—who is absolutely convinced that if only the government would try a bit harder, reality would finally give up and behave itself.
Richie’s latest bright idea (and there are always bloody plenty of them) is that prices are too high because, well, people are charging too much. The solution, naturally, is to tell them not to. One imagines this is delivered with the same confidence as telling the tide to bugger off because it’s inconveniencing one’s walk along the beach.
Now, it must be said, Richie is not alone in this. There’s a whole chorus of the economically imaginative who believe that markets are a sort of optional extra—like heated seats or decaf coffee. If only we had more rules, more controls, more very stern letters, then landlords, grocers, and energy firms would simply accept lower prices out of sheer civic virtue.
The awkward bit—the bit that keeps happening no matter how many times it’s ignored—is that people respond to incentives. Charge less than it costs, and, rather mysteriously, things stop being produced. Cap rents, and landlords decide they’d rather not be landlords. Insist that energy be cheap, and energy companies develop a sudden and entirely rational aversion to existing.
At which point Richie pops up again, slightly red-faced but undeterred, to explain that the problem isn’t the policy—it’s that we haven’t done enough of it. We must double down, triple down, regulate the regulators, and possibly shout at a few more clouds for good measure.
Now, as for me—yes, yes, I can already hear the grumbling—I’m writing this from Portugal. A Brexiteer abroad! The hypocrisy, they cry. The sheer cheek of it. And yet, it turns out one can believe that Britain should govern itself and that it’s rather pleasant to sit in the sun with a glass of something cold while doing so.
After all, Brexit was about who makes the rules, not banning Ryanair and a decent plate of grilled sardines. If anything, it’s a fine demonstration of comparative advantage: Britain produces opinions in vast quantities, while Portugal, quite sensibly, specialises in sunshine and wine.
So no, Richie, the answer is not to outlaw prices any more than it is to outlaw gravity. You can swear at them, regulate them, and write entire manifestos about them—but in the end, they’ll still be there, quietly doing their job while you’re off drafting the next plan to make them disappear.
And if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a beer getting warm. Markets, you see, wait for no man—even the ones who think they can bloody well control them.
That was shit. Have you tried Claude?