“Get on the property ladder,” they say. “It’s an investment – cheapest way to borrow and make money.”
Now, clearly, money isn’t real. Owning property isn’t real. So you can buy bits of the moon from the septics because they put a pin in it first. Big deal. Can you buy a section of King Harold from the french because they shot an arrow into his eye? No, exactly.
So you’re supposed to mortgage yourself into oblivion so that you can buy property, take those first faltering steps to being trapped on the property ladder. “My friend bought a house for two packets of crisps and a mars bar at the bottom of the property slump, and now she’s sold it and has eighteen Lear jets and hand blown glass sex toys.”
“The Rothschild empire is built on buying cheap land in war torn Europe and then flogging it many years later.”
But what if you have to buy another property – it only works if you buy low and sell high, then live on a beach, waiting for a war to decimate property prices again. Now there’s a thought. It’s a trap otherwise. And when you die in your property, it’ll be worth so much money that they’ll be able to bury you in a fancy casket. Only there’s no room, so they’ll probably have to put you in a liquidizer and feed you to fancy pigs instead.
No siree bubba. Get into as much debt as you can while you’re retired and young, then work until you die I say. The reverse of the “die with money principle”. Here’s how you do it. Get a credit card. Fraudulently if necessary – all you have to do in the UK is rifle through someone’s garbage, and find a utility bill, and then fill in some forms and bingo. Get another credit card. Maintain a good credit rating with these fake cards over three years. Build your credit rating. Then get more credit cards, each with a slightly larger limit. Buy a boat. Sail it away. Sell it. Sit by a warm pool with lots of fancy drinks.
I have about six credit cards now, and more in the post. The amount of money I could borrow is rediculous, and enough to buy several small islands – allbeit in Canada.
But that’s not the point. The thing about the property ladder is this – it’s a con even if you want to get out. “All that money you spend on interior decorating will be a great investment when you come to sell your home.”
Nonsense. I worked for eight hours yesterday. (“worked from home” but that’s another story involving a Land Rover and a flat battery…). I then spent four hours painting. That’s a day and a half’s work – and what for? A day and a half’s pay? No. I’m not a painter – I’m not even good at painting. It makes my eyes swell and my head hurt. And it is therapeutic, like bread-making. But my bread tastes cack, and I’d hate to be a baker. And all of the silly tools you have to buy – I’m sure the economics don’t add up. See I can’t even type straight any more. Paint fumes have reduced my brain from semolina to jelly. Ugh.