The Spectre of the Dole

[Rosetta]

The cold morning sun glints
on cracked panes
in disused factories
and the lines of the unemployed
snake down the grimy streets
all the way to the pub
where the workshy gaze boorishly
into another pint of warm beer;
and no one minds that another generation
is condemned to enforced leisure
in front of a hire purchase plasma TV set
and ready-made dinner for two
from Asda.
Who cares for the deprived masses?
Not I. Not I. My family are entrepreneurs,
and I am looking forward to fillet steak
for the third time this week,
washed down with a nice claret.

[Daphne]

I too am sick and tired of reading rubbish about the recession. The working class yobs are all out in force slurping beer and puffing away on smuggled fags watching yobboball on stolen flatscreen (or do I mean fatscreen) TVs.

[England Awaken!]

People should get on their bikes and look for work instead of festering in their common ugly council flats, watching utter SHITE on their rented or stolen TVs, eating junk food probably pilfered from Iceland and smoking themselves silly on the fags they bought down the pub, smuggled to avoid duty.