The National lottery: The poor mans tax

Well over fifty years ago George Orwell eerily predicted the use of a national lottery game to occupy the proletariat whilst also raising funds for Big Brother.

The national lottery 2004.

Only poor people play the lottery, fooled into coughing up their hard earned cash by a government that openly admits its dislike for them. The million pound prizes are marketed under the patronising disguise of ‘A bit of fun’, and as a genuinely winnable gamble for the cost of a pound.

It is a gamble and you could win, but it’s highly unlikely. The whole set up is like a massive socially acceptable fruit machine. It is a tax on being poor.

Where this cash ends up was always going to be a fairly contentious issue. Giving to causes that simply need the raw cash would of course upset the somewhat warped middle class ideals of fairness – irrespective of who provided the funds in the first place, there will always be those that worry themselves sick about others getting something for nothing.

This side of the argument will always be backed up by that classic conservative rhetoric, ‘Oh well everything’s relative isn’t it?’ Classic! Can be used to justify almost any unfairness whilst alleviating the deepest of guilt.

So now we have ended up in the utterly bizarre situation in which lottery funding has been used to build a new rowing lake at Eton college. Delineated simply: Cash raised by the working class has been directly channelled straight into one of society’s most affluent public schools, to benefit the upbringing of children who will never need for anything.

It may sound a bit straightforward, but it really is as simple as that.

Evidence, should it be needed, that the endemic greed of the wealthiest will respect no boundary to achieve it’s ultimate aim.

Defenders of the rowing lake and Eton’s ridiculous charitable status will point out that the facility will benefit the community in general. Believable? No, of course not.

Locals messing about on inflatable dinghies in the bank holiday sun, wet tennis balls and sunburn? Young mums taking a welcome break with space for the kids to charge around? No, It’ll be reserved for the disgusting accents of Rupert and Oliver to indulge in the toffiest of sports, rowing.

This barely believable cut and dried situation of such blatant class unfairness is surely the dream of socialist writers the world over. We’ve all been there on a Saturday afternoon, waiting in a newsagent behind our poorest getting their Lottery tickets. All so queenies grandchildren and their affluent chums can strut around wearing boat shoes with no socks and polo shirts with the collar turned up.

It makes me wonder why there wasn’t an outcry at the time. The tabloids, they always hate the wrong people and as for TV, royal sycophant Nicholas Witchell is hardly likely to blow the whistle on royal greed.

Should we expect anything else? Really? We know from experience that the hegemonic nature of the greedy will stop at nothing to further their own insatiable appetite for exclusivity. Shamefully it’s a Labour government that gleefully continues to pave the way for such grotesque inequality, humbled by it’s new found support from middle England of who they seem to be petrified of disappointing.

We are being skanked in a scandalous manner. The selfish and controlling class that operates our society from the outside are continuing to reap the rewards of the disparity on which it thrives.

The thing is, if you’ve got royalty and plenty of old family dosh on your side, you can quite literally get away with anything, including daylight robbery.

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