Get a better paid job, get a second job, wear an extra jumper, eat for 30p, swim in shit, live with Covid, don’t call an ambulance, live without fresh fruit and veg, stop buying lattes and Netflix, live with your parents, stop talking down Britain, stop ruining Brexit and shut up.
Get a better paid job, get a second job, get a third job, wear four jumpers, eat turnip peel, swallow Twitter sewage, forget Covid, what’s a hospital? Grow fruit and veg in a childhood you never had, stop questioning Empire, stop ruining Downton Abbey and shut up.
Get a better paid job, get a second job, get a third job, get a fourth job in cyber, skip breakfast, convince yourself you’d rather swallow sewage because it’s the price of free speech, drink the weak tea of billionaires’ dreams, edit your parents’ childhoods to court the Blue Wall, copper up for your kids’ cheap academy blazers, tell them learning means sit down, shut up, memorise the greatness of Empire and shut up again.
Stop looking after your elderly parents, work for Amazon with a tag on. Come on, make Brexit work, we can’t. Live the Tufton Street dream like 30p Lee who’s too dumb to see the Eton chaps, sniggering behind his back while they shaft his dad, untouchable as royalty. Vote the grandkids up academy chimneys and when the work makes them cough, Rees-Mogg just scoffs and says sit down, shut up, and memorise.
It’s like in old films and comics: Lose your memory after a bump on the head, get another bump on the head and the mist starts to clear. How that works, I’ve got no idea, I’m not a neurologist, ask Facebook’s brains trust. Struggle upstream through a gaslit cocktail of think-tank pamphlets and food-bank photo opportunities. See a brighter future sweep downstream into pasts people cling to like driftwood dreams. Keep your mouth shut and try not to swallow the contents of the overflow.
