Liz Jones writes —
I took the ‘How long will I live?’ test last week, the one the Government thinks you should take to ensure you don’t buy a Ferrari, but eke out your pension instead.
Oh, for the luxury of a pension! I don’t have one, just enormous tax bills, and negative equity.
Unfortunately, I have never smoked, I exercise every day for at least two hours, am slightly underweight, have parents who both survived past the age of 80, and I’m vegan to boot.
Apparently, I will live until I’m 100, which is a blow, to be honest, given my heating bill up here in the frozen Yorkshire Dales is £600 a month, which means without food and on only a state pension I will be running a deficit of £200 a month.
I won’t pay off my mortgage until I am 79, but I suppose the plus side of this is I will default on my payments and thus be rendered homeless, so will have nothing to heat.
Perhaps I could also try to persuade one of my cats to give me meningitis.
It’s come to a sorry state if we are all now wishing we could die relatively young, so we are not tipped into penury.
I am a feminist, I really am (I’ve never let a man pay for anything), but feel the current generation of women in their 60s, the first to abandon the way of life of their mothers, which meant they pursued careers, married and had children late, had affairs then got divorced, all in the name of liberation, are now imprisoned in debt, alcohol abuse and loneliness, wishing they could die, and do it soon.