Land-Lord Rayner of Barnet: Here's one I prepared earlier

Found innocent of all breaches of conduct on 3 September by the Leaders' Panel made up of 3 Tories and 2 Labour, by his own description at times Barnet Tory Mayor and Councillor and at others landlord, Hugh Rayner reaches into his inside pocket. A handkerchief to wipe away the sweat of the ordeal from his brow? A mobile phone to spread the wonderful news? Neither. It's a thank you speech for letting him off scot free written in advance. How could he possibly have guessed the result? He must be psychic.

It's not right, Shaun!

It's not right, Shaun!

What sort of country do we live in where even the Home Secretary can't get rid of a Police and Crime Commissioner who knew about but ignored the horrific child sex exploitation that went on when he was Head of Children's Services and sat on the Authority of South Yorkshire Police and ran his campaign "with a focus on local neighbourhood police"?

Shaun Wright has also held the offices of councillor, magistrate, school governor and more. He was elected as Police and Crime Commissioner on a 14.5% turnout (so over 85% did not vote at all). Why would anyone want to vote anyone into office in these strange times that just get stranger? 

My heart goes out to those tragic young people treated without humanity, without anyone caring or protecting them. And it is so dark to see Wright on TV without remorse, clinging on to his job, claiming that he can be trusted.

'THERE WILL BE NO STONE UNTURNED' SAYS PM. REALLY?

"THERE WILL BE NO STONE UNTURNED" SAYS PM.  REALLY?

"There will be no stone unturned",  declares David Cameron, but based on past experience it's not easy for the public to trust the government to deal transparently or honestly with the historic child abuse allegations that have struggled to be heard for some time to no avail.  After all the time and money that was spent on Leveson, all the evidence taken, the report written, Cameron pledged that he would implement the report if it was not "bonkers".  Who was going to make that judgement?  JK Rowling wrote that she gave evidence to the enquiry in good faith and felt "duped and angry" by the Prime Minister's response, and victims refused to meet the Culture Secretary, speaking of a sense of "betrayal".

Cameron has repeatedly evaded Chris Bryant's requests at PMQs  to produce email and text correspondence between himself and Rebekka Brooks & Andy Coulson getting away with contemptuous, petulant answers including the now famous: "I'm not going to answer his questions until he apologizes".  Here's the video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mUX9LvYlAps 

As Chris Bryant asked in the House: "Is there one rule for the PM and one for the rest of us?"

The only way I can see that this matter has a chance of being dealt with openly and honestly is for the victims to have the courage - and it will take enormous courage - to come forward and speak to the police and we have to hope they will be heard after all these years.  If there is a case to answer they deserve justice and closure and the protection of those responsible should not be the priority. 
 
Why have vital documents disappeared? Why was the whole matter brushed under the carpet at the time? Lord Tebbit has commented that things were different in the 80s but has anything really changed?  We must all have the truth whatever it is, however  shocking the fallout may turn out to be.  There must be a fair and just outcome.  I hope that won't be denied us.

He who MUST be obeyed: A Hugh and Cry

He Who MUST Be Obeyed: A Hugh and Cry

The new Mayor of Barnet, Hugh Rayner, has a temper. It can accelerate uncontrollably from 0 to 120 in a matter of seconds as he demonstrated at the Annual Council meeting last Monday at Hendon Town Hall.  Veteran Councillors said they had never seen a meeting like it. As on St Crispin's Day, those who were not there shall think themselves accursed they missed it all.  It was the meeting at which Hugh became Mayor of Barnet. When Hugh threw a tantrum, demanding the respect that was being denied him, he did so like a power-crazed sergeant major on the parade field. Hugh is indeed an erstwhile military man who apparently served his country in the warehouse at RAF Hendon. 

Monday night was to be ceremonial, Hugh's night of mayoral triumph, charmingly hosting a lavish bash for Councillors and guests at the taxpayers' expense.  He took his seat for the first time as mayor as I took my seat for the first time in the Council Chamber.

I had supposed that joining the ranks of the Council would mean an end to my days of unseemly heckling from the public gallery. But Tory antics and Hugh's impotent, yet fascinatingly comic struggle to control the meeting ensured that my heckling days were far from over. Old habits die hard.  You'd heckle too if it happened to you.

Oh how the Tories had been plotting and planning.  Used to working with a substantial majority which now is expected to reduce to only one after the delayed election in Colindale on 26 June, they are running scared. And Barnet now has a newly-established Committee System which spreads power much wider and will allow the opposition more influence than the previous Cabinet system by which just ten members of the ruling party had all the power.  The Tories have never had it so bad. 

The fun began a few moments before kick-off when the Leader of the Labour Group, Alison Moore, came into the room to tell us that the Tories were going to stop our expenses if we didn't agree to pair with them.  Allow me to explain asap that this wasn't an improper suggestion - well actually it was, but political rather than sexual. Propositioned so charmingly how could we refuse? But we did - and ended up just a little bit poorer than when we'd arrived - at least financially but not where our integrity is concerned.

So the first skirmish was played out, and the two sides entered the Chamber at loggerheads. It was then that I had my first glimpse of the Tories preening themselves in their ceremonial robes.  How I did chuckle, but not for long

So back to Hugh trying out his throne for size all decked out in Mayoral splendour, fur-trimmed town cryer costume, (he'd definitely pass the audition) with white cravat frothing at his throat, Hugh almost frothing at the mouth.  The Chamber doors burst open to admit officers run ragged, distributing papers literally hot off the press, full of errors, omissions, not enough to go round initially, can we share one between two.  It has to be deduced that the Tories had submitted their information immediately prior to the meeting. The first sheets to arrive showed only the Tory committee members. The officers rushed out of the Chamber and returned with revised lists showing both Tories and Labour. The Tories demanded a division based on these papers to ratify the membership of Council committees. Labour objected, pointing out some of the obvious errors that existed on the papers, and complaining that they had had no time to read the papers but the Tories inevitably won a vote to proceed and the committees were agreed en bloc, mistakes and all. The furious protest from the opposition and from the public gallery was ear-splitting and drove Hugh into a frenzied rant demanding silence and respect for his office. Was this the same Hugh who when merely in the ranks never lost an opportunity to chatter and laugh with his neighbour and fellow-Councillor in Hale Ward, Tom Davey, while others were speaking in Council - in particular, the oppostion?

And for the next Tory move Cllr Anthony Finn requested that a future Council meeting be changed to a date that coincides with the Labour Party Conference in September. Pandemonium.  Shouts of "outrageous", "shameful" even from the most timid of those in attendance. 

There is a convention, an understanding, both in Parliament and local government that the diary is kept free during the three weeks of annual conference for the three major parties. But Hugh pushed ahead with determination:   "This has been moved. Agreed?" expecting to win on a nod.  Roars of protest rang out from the opposition and from the gallery while the buffet lay untouched in Committee Room 2.  Surely tonight was about fun and frolics.  Of course there was no thought that the food would be better taken to the local foodbank for those less fortunate, those who were paying for this feast. But the fun had to wait a while longer.

There was a vote: For, Against, Against, For, then the impeccably well-mannered Labour Cllr Arjun Mittra called out in disgust: "Against....against this farce".  Applause, cheers from ABTT (anyone but the Tories). Hugh went completely berserk. Cllr Mittra had overstepped the mark and he told him so.  Others followed suit. But I'll let you watch it all for yourself on this video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S2CO7UX1XSY&feature=youtu.be  It's so much better when you can see it as it happened. But the Tories had the numbers and won the vote.  

We boycotted the reception. We left the web, we left the room and hurried down to Camelot, or rather the Greyhound and an honest pint and a packet of crisps - in my case, throwing caution to the wind, a double slim-line tonic with ice and lemon.  If I were a new Tory Councillor I'd seriously be considering the cross-benches.  The Battle of Barnet is in full swing and it's not pretty. All that time and effort wasted on political wrangling when we should be out there serving the people of Barnet. So my first Council meeting as a Councillor.  A baptism of fire. Ouch!  And Mr Mayor,  perhaps you should take the advice given to you from the public gallery amid the jeers on Monday night: Act as if you're in a democracy rather than a dictatorship".  And I believe there is a training course at the Town Hall in the next few days on "Chairing Skills". You may wish to enrol. Hale Caesar.

Barnet Council: It's a whole new ball game

Barnet Council: It's a whole new ball game 

It's an exciting new dawn for Barnet Council. Nothing will ever be the same.  Well, for one thing I am thrilled to be able to announce that I was elected Labour Councillor for West Hendon on 22 May, so I will no longer be sitting in the public gallery.  Thank you so much to everyone who made this possible. I'm very proud and intend to do my best to serve wherever I am needed, the job of every Councillor.  So for the very first time I'm going to be in the Council Chamber able to speak and take part.  I should explain by adding that I am able to speak and take part officially.  I never could keep quiet in the public gallery.  And the prospect of the next four years inspires and excites me because for all Councillors, from the newly elected to the veterans, it is going to be very different. 

Until now the Tories have run the Council with an unshakeable majority. Impassioned protests from the Labour opposition on issues such as housing , caring, schools, crime, hospitals, disability, parking, refuse, etc have been met with chatting and laughing throughout Labour speeches amongst the Tory ranks followed by the inevitable Tory win when the vote took place.  

Labour just failed to win the Council on the 22nd May in spite of substantial gains, but it is so close that the Tories are no longer going to have it all their way.  For those old enough to remember, Harold Wilson's first administration comes to mind when it was so close that an MP might be brought to vote into the House of Commons on a hospital bed still attached to a saline drip.  The Tories are going to have to have every one of their Councillors present every time.

Then the Council will be run in a different way moving from the Cabinet System where just ten Councillors from the ruling party made all the decisions.   That was true of the last Tory Council's decision to privatize Barnet services, signing us all up for 10 years. The Council is changing to a Committee System that is new to everyone and works in a more inclusive way. 

There is new technology, papers distributed electronically, a whole new system created by Capita, though not yet completed!  But don't get me started on the IT provision for Councillors by Capita. It is, shall we say, disappointing.

And there is the new balance of power.  The election in the safe Labour seat, Colindale, which will take place on 26 June, delayed due to the sad death of the Green candidate, is likely to result in a Council with only two seats between the two major parties.  It will be very different.

Tonight I will attend my first Council event since the election - the Annual meeting at which all the newly-elected Councillors gather and the Mayor is appointed for the year.  The Conservative Councillors choose to wear ceremonial robes.  Labour Councillors choose to sport a single red rose.  And so we run out of the tunnel in our own distinctive kits to begin a whole new ball game, from captain to rookie. Let the people of Barnet referee. 

BANKING ON A SHOEBOX

BANKING ON A SHOEBOX

For years I've considered removing my money from the bank and keeping it in a shoebox under the floorboards.  I've sat in my room looking around for a brilliantly original hiding place but always come to the conclusion that no such place exists.  But apart from the convenience of a card what do banks do for me?  Charges for everything, negligible interest, you lose anything over £85,000 if the bank suddenly collapses (I'm thinking of others here), and there are the constant mistakes. 

When I bought a car from a friend and transferred the money to her account, the bank decided to transfer the payment again and wiped out my account.  My panic was justified. It wasn't the bank's responsibility to get back the second payment it was mine and I was supposed to contact the recipient to ask them to return the money but it was up to them whether or not they gave it back! The bank could take no action. Fortunately it was a friend and she returned the money immediately, but this may not have been the case.  However, the bank very kindly said they would waive the charge for my going over my overdraft limit - due to their mistake!!  How much better to get the cash from under the floorboards, put it in an envelope and deliver it personally and safely to my friend.  Stress free. Easy.

And now we are told the taxman can take money out of your account, your ISA, whatever he chooses without notice, without asking your permission, if you owe him more than £1,000.  And if the taxman makes a mistake he is never responsible so anything could happen and my money would not be safe.

So what am I waiting for? Floorboards seem to be the best option.  And if the burglars are clever enough, then I'd rather they had the money than the bankers (rhyming slang).

Having your money safely locked away in bank vaults is a Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid fantasy.  Today cyber crime rules.  Your money can be stolen on line and although in many circumstances the bank may make good the loss, the thieves are not even pursued.  I've always mistrusted virtual money.  I want to sit and count those notes occasionally whenever I feel like it like the king in his counting house before I have my bread and honey.  After all you can't pay notes into a bank or withdraw them via the internet.

Perhaps one concession: a small bank account for buying things on line.   Not being able to send a late birthday card or order a next-day delivery of food supplies in the middle of a sleepless night would be difficult to give up.

So I conclude that the well-hidden shoebox or secret drawer is today's best method of storing my money. The lure of interest is virtually non-existent. If your money isn't cleaned out by cyber crime or wiped out by the sudden collapse of the bank if you have too much, then the taxman will be looting your account without your knowledge or the bank will be making mistakes in your name but never having to say it's sorry.

It seems I'm not the Messiah after all

IT SEEMS I'M NOT THE MESSIAH AFTER ALL 

It seems I'm not the Messiah after all. I'm just a very naughty girl. Today I chose the path of denial by pretending I wasn't moving home next week. Problem is, I am. Head-in-the-sand syndrome is futile, but while it lasts it's bliss. Today it did the trick. I turned my back on the overwhelming pile of cardboard boxes aching to be filled with glassware and china and tucked in with bubble wrap and soothing tissue paper and I simply ran off.  

Instead I turned to M&S where I assuaged my guilt by buying my mother a feast of cakes, confectionary and flowers and spending a couple of hours with her. This was a holding exercise so I don't have to visit again until after the move which is, by the way, on Friday, 13th.  But why should the number of people at the Last Supper bother me? If I'm not the Messiah I can snap my fingers and laugh in the face of the curse of Friday, 13th. Yet already its influence is in evidence. Steve, the wonderful, tried-and-tested removal man who was going to move me and take care of other plats du jour such as taking unwanted stuff to the tip and reliably rushing hither and thither providing anything I desire, had a car accident on Tuesday and is laid up with broken bones and worse until the new year.  Yet Friday, 13th has also proven to be lucky, though not for poor Steve.  As no-one is keen to move home on that inauspicious day I managed to get a last minute booking with a firm who are highly-recommended, helpful and lovely, but they are not Steve and never could be.

When I left my mother today, I somehow found myself in a shop trying on a glam furry leopard coat.  Reader, I bought it and it felt good.  But now I'm home and facing the music, but it's not "So here it is, Merry Christmas, everybody's having fun" quite yet.  Everything is just as I left it - chaos. I've packed most of the good stuff and feel so disengaged that if I were to leave everything else behind or dump it at the local tip it would make little difference to my life. Tempting.  Walk away and start again might be the way forward.  I swear that is not an avoidance tactic. Neither is this blog.

There is still such a thing as a real bookshop

 

There is still such a thing as a real bookshop

Soaked in the rain we, noted bell-ringing cousin Jenny from the Isles of Scilly, and I, dived for cover into a bookshop on Curzon Street. What an utter delight. A real bookshop with an irresistible selection of old and new books and a real expert to consult. 

As I'm wondering where all my books will go in the new flat (do I really dare to hope it will exchange next week?) I have no wish to increase my already ridiculously large library. My intention was merely to dry off and enjoy browsing. But all the kidding myself that these days we have kindle and ipad so who needs books was forgotten. There is no substitute. 

My choice was rather contradictory though. The Macclesfield Psalter, a Christmas anthology and a hardback of Christopher Hitchins' "Mortality". All intended presents of course, but I don't think I can let them go. Then I had to leave. More cousins waiting for us further up the street for lunch.  On the way out I spotted the blue plaque on the wall revealing that Nancy Mitford had worked in the building for the last three years of World War II. I shall definitely return to that wonderful shop before long. 

PS  Since writing the above in a spontaneous outburst of excitement without my usual research I now know that Heywood Hill has been delighting book lovers since 1936 but I'm happy to have discovered it late rather than never.

http://www.heywoodhill.com

 

Brighton Rocked

BRIGHTON ROCKED

Last week in Brighton everything changed.  I was there & saw it happen.  Last week in Brighton, I watched Ed Miliband emerge from his chrysalis, open his wings and fly in glorious colour.  Those present were energised with a new optimism.  At last we were off.  It was its own St Crispin's Day and those that were not there will forever "think themselves accurs'd".  

Until then the Tories were busy regarding the lure of UKIP as their main worry. It was Where are the Labour policies? Guffaw, guffaw.  Ed Miliband as PM? No way, snort, snort.  But Labour has been through a serious and thorough period of consultation and discussion on policy and in this megafast-changing world, Labour has moved on from the past and has sprung into action for the future while the Tories are left jaw-dropped. They sense the danger. The hatchets are out.

The opening of the Tory conference in Manchester this week clearly revealed where they are in their own ideology and aspirations: groundhog day. There were extravagant eulogies to Margaret Thatcher repeated today in Cameron's leadership speech which was pretty much last year's speech.  Maggie's ashes may have been buried but the heritage of her ruinous reign lingers on in her Party as does their firm belief in restoring the good old days before Labour and unions ever existed, those days of guaranteed struggle and hardship without rights for all but the rich.  

Some Tories might well derive pleasure from flogging dead horses. The words "socialists" and "lefties" and "unions" are still regarded as enough to terrify the electorate into voting anything but Labour, but while they may continue to make Tories and Daily Mail readers see red there are many in the UK who are disgusted by such Tory terminology as "scroungers" and "strivers" and "ATOS" and "bedroom tax".  The Tory Daily Mail incites hatred and mistrust every day against pensioners, the disabled, the unemployed, the poor, the non-British and others while promoting the "me, me me" values of Thatcher.   Since events last week in Brighton, its 'journalism' has sunk from the gutter to the sewers with its spiteful, deliberately misleading character assassination of Ralph Miliband. But perhaps this will at last bring the Daily Mail to account.  Today with the Tories it is divide and rule. Cameron began his conference speech approving "hard-working people", "married couples".  Perhaps he should consider emulating his heroine's meaningless famous election victory pledge: "Where there is discord, may we bring harmony".  But harmony is not in David Cameron's manifesto. 

While Labour listen, the Tories charge ruthlessly, arrogantly on, ignoring the opinions and advice of the experts, the experienced, of teachers on education, doctors and nurses on health, medical experts and social workers on the fitness to work of the severely disabled and profoundly ill, anyone who might give them sound advice. They either ignore or misjudge the opinion of a large part of the electorate who they seem to think just don't count. And most disturbing is their insidious social engineering, bedroom tax evictions leading to bed and breakfasts with no permanent address from which to vote, or moving people to homes out of a target constituency to improve the odds of electoral victory. And now Cameron proposes to axe housing benefit from the young unemployed. "Hurrah", crow the Daily Mail readers, but the political implications are sinister.

Only Labour is now fit for purpose.  Labour's USP is that they genuinely see themselves as the people's party, the only party that can deliver a fair society, with hope and opportunity for all.  They are there for the many not for the few.  And Labour is listening and learning. They don't want to repeat the mistakes of the past because they believe in the future. There were many in Brighton returning to the fold, seeing the current Labour Party as their only hope, their only home. They were not disappointed.

The Tories should have won the 2010 elections with a landslide. Cameron ran the length and breadth of the country through the night like a headless chicken in shirtsleeves  desperate to make everyone like him. He would be Prime Minister. If it didn't work then, how will it work now, especially with the Tories having to appeal to their own hard right who are doing more than flirting with UKIP.  The Tories might rubbish Ed Miliband, but David Cameron has never had popular appeal. 

It can no longer be said there's little difference between Labour and the Tories. They're now miles apart. The vulnerable are under attack from both Tory local and national government, portrayed as scroungers, suffering from cruel, ideology-led policies. We live with food banks and children going to school hungry, with a government that doesn't care.  Labour is needed now more than I can ever remember.  Last week Brighton rocked with Ed Miliband's repeated cry: "Britain can do better than this", and under his leadership we can and we will.  

NSL Eat Your Heart Out!

NSL Eat Your Heart Out 

I've been thinking of living without a car for quite a while, but today I made it happen. 

It was the last day of my tax and MOT. I cancelled my insurance. I drove my lovely, aging convertible with its soft black leather seats into the breakers yard and took their cheque for £50. 

One last lingering look, a loving pat of the bonnet, a whispered thank you for all the pleasure and faithful service it had given me, and I walked away without regret. 

Yet more change and it feels good - until I need to get somewhere in a hurry in the rain!!

I'm not afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens (Woody Allen)

“I’m not afraid to die, I just don’t want to be there when it happens” (Woody Allen)

I haven't blogged lately.  I haven't been up to it.  Ideas flew in and out of my head.  I wanted to blog them but it didn't happen. Instead a brief tweet or Facebook update here and there which got the idea over but didn't take much application or concentration. That's because my Dad died four weeks ago.

He was 92 and ill for months with so many serious conditions that he was too old and frail to keep fighting and winning.  He developed pneumonia, didn't respond to the anti-biotics and died peacefully and painlessly after a good and happy life.  I spent much of the past few months in hospital with him because he needed nursing and company.  Whatever they say about the NHS not caring about the elderly was just not true in the case of my Dad. They couldn't have done more for him but they are pitifully short-staffed.   

I sat with him the night he died.  Earlier in the day I was led into a nearby storeroom by one of the doctors to guarantee our privacy. She was a young, glamorous blonde and when he first met her my father was certain she couldn't possibly be a doctor. Then one day she appeared in a red dress. My father, cracking jokes to the end, told her that he had recently read a novel about a girl in a red dress who turned out to be a murderer. The doctor cracked back that she was not a murderer but on the contrary she was there to save people's lives.  When she and I were alone in the storeroom she pointedly closed the door and having seen many episodes of "House" I guessed that the news wasn't going to be great.  There was nothing more that could be done for him and I should expect the worst.  

In tears I went back into his room and really didn't know what to do. He was a jazz pianist as well as an academic and I sat beside him and decided I'd sing to him.  We are very von Trapp as a family - singing at every opportunity, lots of harmony and uncontained enthusiasm.  So very quietly I began to sing the songs that had been significant to him: his parents' favourites: Alice Blue Gown and If you were the only girl in the world and I were the only boy".  Then other family favourites.  He was in the Air Force during the war, though he was transferred to ENSA because of his musical talents and less than perfect eyesight, and when we went on family car journeys we always started by singing The Wizard of Oz, because he told us that was the song they sang when flying off on a mission to guarantee their safe return.  So that was part of my death-bed repertoire. Then jazz songs, songs from the Great American Songbook, songs he had played at his gigs well into his 80s: Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered, Lullaby of birdland, My one and only love, Around midnight, which it was.  Suddenly his right hand moved very slowly, unexpectedly, on the sheet and he started very gently fingering as if he were playing the piano.  He could hear me.  I thought perhaps I was imagining it, but it was happening. I was told later that hearing is the last sense to go, and at that moment I am sure he could hear me.  After that I held his hand and spoke to him saying silly things like: "I'm still here Dad. You can't get rid of me that easily". And although I am a non-believer, I said prayers and sang hymns that I knew he would like.  In that extra time, after I thought communication had ended for ever, I was elated, thrilled, full of spiritual delight and gratitude. It gave me some sort of closure, allowed me to say "goodbye".  I miss him very much.  He was a majorly lovely man. 

And today I feel the urge to blog again, though instead of the blog I had in mind, the above popped out.  It doesn't have to be read but I think it probably did have to be written.

For Sale: The Judiciary. Only one previous owner.

For Sale: The Judiciary. Only one previous owner

Every day there is another surreal, yet all too real, front-page headline that makes you despair before the back of your teaspoon has even begun to crack open your boiled egg.

Today it is the proposed privatization of the Law Courts, the running of part of our Constitution for profit by some inept, money-grabbing private company. It becomes increasingly apparent that we are being governed by a bunch of second-hand car dealers.  Am I being picky when I find Grayling's rhetoric abhorrent? Is he really talking about our Justice System?

"As in other areas we need to look at the way we deliver our services to provide a more efficient service that delivers access to justice quickly and effectively, while delivering value for money for the taxpayer. At the same time, we must preserve the independence of the judiciary which lies at the heart of our constitutional arrangements."

It's Tony Blackburn speak: constitutional arrangement type things.

Perhaps the whole of our Constitution should be privatized, especially Parliament. MPs could pay for tabling questions. The wonderful Parliamentary subsidised food and drink could be hiked up to real-life prices.  Offices and work stations might be rented along with the TVs in Members' rooms like those that patients pay through the nose for in hospitals.  And how about subscriptions for access to Hansard and Erskine May and an annual membership subscription for Strangers Bar, the Tea Room, Pugin Room, Members' Dining Room and access to the Terrace?  Savings could certainly be made if MPs received a pro rata salary taking into account almost a third of a year they have off in recess. And of course, who could do a better job of cocking it up than Capita?  Call them in immediately.  

The solution offered by problem pages in popular magazines seems as good as any here. Write down the pros and cons in two columns and see what evolves.  The pro seems to be a saving of £1 billion a year.  Such forecasted savings promised by profit hungry private companies can never be guaranteed.  Neither can the quality of the services which inevitably fall short of expectations though little remedy can be sought from watertight contracts.  And what a piffling amount of silver the government is talking about to put our fine, independent Justice system in jeopardy.

'Flat-rate' pension that is not for everyone

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'Flat-rate' pension that is not for everyone

Following yesterday's Queen's Speech, I couldn't find any details about the proposed flat-rate pension on the DWP website today so I rang them.  I was told that until it becomes Law, it is still a proposal, hence the reason for no details, even about the exact amount.

From advance publicity it might be assumed that everyone reaching pensionable age from 2016 will receive around £140, but this isn't the case.  And this new innovation is meant to simplify the pension system making individual assessment unnecessary.  This isn't the case either.

Those with 35 qualifying years will get the full flat rate.  Others will get a percentage.  The example I was given was that 26 qualifying years will yield a pension of 26 x 3/55ths.  So it isn't a simple flat rate across the board for all new pensioners, it is still based on what you've put in, or rather what you haven't put in.

I have never seen it stated that the new pension would go up each year at the lower rate of inflation, but I was told that this will be the case.

So now we can watch the proposed flat-rate pension make its way through Parliament.  Shouldn't 'flat rate' mean that the rate applies to everyone? Well in this case the term is misleading and many pensioners, who will in any case be waiting longer for their pensions,  will be getting less than others.  The "flat rate" will still have to be assessed for each individual. Most existing pensioners will be getting substantially less than the flat-rate and will never catch up.  Since April 2013 the current basic state pension is £110.15 after a rise this year of 2.5% which equals £2.70.

Government simplification of the system? Government sorting things out? Government fairness? But why should it be any different from anything else they do?