Poetic Licence

In a storming 10-minute speech this week, the Labour veteran Baroness Castle slated the Government for fixing old-age pensions to inflation and called for pensions to be pegged to pay rises

The Real Pension Revolution

"Your pension won't be worth a light, you suckers

There will not be enough in future years."

Charlie, John and Lyn stood by the brazier

Like mutineers.

Worked that time, paid stamps.

The whole kaboodle

Stakeholder/Stay Colder - what a con

To have some pinkcheeked politician tell you,

Sort yerself out Grandad, from now on.

A million of them marched that year, in winter.

December 2012 it was, or so.

They organised a Coffin Dodger's charter.

All systems go.

Frames and sticks and overcoats

what have you.

Their grown-up children watched the news

transfixed,

Embarrassment, bemusement, understanding.

Feelings were mixed.

"That generation," said one knowing daughter

"Knew about protesting. Every one."

"Trouble-junkies. World owes them a living,"

Sighed a younger son.

"Who wazzed all the money?"

Asked an uncle.

"System seemed quite adequate before

Had enough to build that bloody Dome thing.

Or to fund a war."

"Demographic Backlash," drawled the pundits.

Europe-wide the story was the same.

"Must we starve our oldies?"

Asked a tabloid.

Someone murmured: "Shame."

Paid the stamps and worked

`til they were knackered.

And they hold a trump card

called The Vote.

Want to fight a million of them do you?

I'll hold your coat.