This is an extract from a letter in a recent
edition of Metro. When I first read
it, I found myself in a melange of
emotions: shock and disgust at the revelation that there are, seemingly, many
old folk who, because of the straitened circumstances in which they find
themselves, are reduced to taking off their clothes to earn money for
necessaries, wonder at the fact there may be an audience out there that
relishes this wholesale degradation of a vulnerable section of society, and,
after the righteous indignation subsided, concern that the old dears are being adequately
compensated for the humiliation of displaying their week's ironing to the
perverts of the parish and that they are managing their self-assessment tax
returns.
Perhaps the government has at last realised that,
by paying special allowances to the wrinkled ecdysiasts, it demonstrates a
tacit acceptance of this vile and exploitative industry, and so have decided to
have a long hard look at them. The allowances, that is, not the performances. That
would be above and beyond.
Right, off to Westminster we go. Chant loudly
after me:
"What do we want?"
"FAIR PAY."
"When do we want it?"
"WHAT?"
I don't know why I bother.
