The thought of lolling about at home watching TV all day may sound appealing, but I would caution you against such a wish.
I recently went from getting up at 5am each day to go and work a 12 hour shift to being retired and having plenty of leisure time on my hands.
What better way to spend a day than having a leisurely breakfast followed by hours of channel surfing through the offerings known as Foxtel?
The pleasure lasted all of one day.
Take heed, if we continue watching Pay TV we are at serious risk of becoming as brain-dead as lab-rats on Morphine.
My research (composed mainly of pressing the remote’s UP channel button repeatedly) shows that the fat controller of television programming considers us all heading for doom and gloom and in dire need of saving.
They want to save us from leaving our funeral costs to our loved ones, so they show us a poor little grandmother smiling sweetly at some obese brat on a backyard swing eating crust-less sandwiches and drinking cordial.
They want to save us from not being able to afford a hip replacement for our poor old arthritic pet dog, so we are beguiled by a poor hobbling pooch sporting a leg cast and whining pathetically.
They implore us to take out income protection insurance to save us from the total embarrassment of not being able to pay our bills on time, against the backdrop of a three-storey home with two luxury cars and a wheelchair in the driveway.
They urge us to look after our family by having up to $1,000,000 life cover. No forms to sign, no “intrusive” medical examinations to undergo. I suppose the fine print will say “Providing you are a non-smoker and can bring along your great-great-grandmother’s cat in triplicate as proof of existence.
They tell us in no uncertain terms that we are completely stupid if we don’t have our cars covered for hail and bird shit damage, and all this as we watch a stupid real estate saleslady try to protect her company car with an advertising billboard, as cricket-ball sized hailstones come crashing down all around.
And when they’re not telling us how it should be insurance-wise they bang on about how desperately in need we are of a credit card that will give us 1.9% interest for six months before reverting to the standard 21%. Don’t forget, for this month only you’ll receive 200 million frequent flyer points which can be converted into a toaster or kettle of your choice, provided you use them within the first month or ten minutes, whichever comes first.
What they fail to point out is that by the time you can claim the reward points you’ll already be in gaol for defaulting on the $20,000 credit limit you couldn’t afford on your Centrelink pension.
Then there are the weight loss programmes. Ah yes, Geoff and his 6 kee-lows of fat that can be Rapidly lost every day for a year, that amount being comprised mainly of your hard earned cash leaving your pocket at the speed of light because you can’t get out of the contract you accidentally agreed to merely by calling the number on the screen “in the next 15 minutes”.
Or the sanitisers. Yes the sanitisers. Those wonderfully packaged miracles of science that can destroy any microbe imaginable in less time than it takes to wipe your bum. There’s even a battery-powered dispenser so your poo-ridden fingers don’t have to touch the button on the top of the bottle. Why they’d invent a powered version is beyond me; don’t you wash your hands after touching the bottle anyway?
And if you’re not using their power pump pack then you sure as hell need their stick on toilet cleaners. Wouldn’t want to have the bloody neighbours talking about your disgustingly smeared toilet bowl eh? You didn’t invite them around for tea and cakes for that, did you?
Rid your house of cockroaches, fleas and smelly diseased rats. Oh yes, my house is simply overrun with these obnoxious pests, they’re everywhere, running amok all over my furniture, my kitchen benches and my wardrobes. Yes! I certainly need a $3,000 ultrasonic, infrared, electromagnetic, plug-in device easily payable in four-hundred weekly instalments of $99.99. It must work, ‘cos there’s a testimonial from one poor bloke who ordered TWO for his mother-in-law’s place, and she doesn’t have rats in her undies, does she?
I could go on, there’s so much ridicule yet to be done, but for now my brain’s beginning to hurt. My legs are getting wobbly, my eyes are watering and I feel a slight bloating in my guts.
Oh, and I’m pretty sure there’s a sore throat brewing.
Lucky I can soldier on with Codral eh?