In news that will shock exactly no one who has ever tried to buy a sandwich in London, a report has spluttered into the public consciousness today declaring that three-quarters of UK workers are failing to secure a 'moderate' pension income. This revelation, delivered with the solemn gravitas of a funeral director reading out the bill, has prompted the usual flurry of urgent reform calls from the usual suspects in expensive glasses.
Let's just sit with that statistic for a moment, shall we? Seventy-five per cent of the Great British workforce is apparently sleepwalking towards a retirement consisting of tinned soup and the lingering scent of regret. But let's be honest, a 'moderate' pension income is about as attainable as a unicorn riding a unicycle through the Dartford Crossing. The definition of 'moderate' likely involves being able to afford both heating AND eating in the same calendar month. Ambitious stuff.
The report, which I imagine was compiled by a team of actuaries who have never known joy, suggests that auto-enrolment – that noble experiment where the government forces you to save money you don't have – simply isn't cutting the mustard. Or the margarine, in this case. People aren't saving enough. Shocking. Truly, the collapse of Western civilisation is upon us.
Now, I'm no financial advisor, but I have spent a considerable amount of time in airport lounges observing the habits of the moderately affluent. And I can tell you that the secret to a comfortable retirement is not a diversified portfolio or compound interest. It's inheriting a house from your auntie Mabel. Failing that, it's developing a taste for those little cheese biscuits they give you on aeroplanes and learning to live off the fumes of your own crushed dreams.
The report, inevitably, calls for 'urgent reform'. This is Westminster-speak for 'let's form a committee, kick the can down the road, and hope we all die before we have to actually do anything'. They'll probably suggest increasing contributions. They always do. As if the average worker, already haemorrhaging cash into the gaping maw of their landlord, can simply conjure another five per cent from their overdraft.
But let's talk about the elephant in the room. The elephant that is wearing a top hat and smoking a cigar while sitting on a pile of unaffordable property. The real reason your pension looks like a sad puddle of piss in a rainstorm is that the entire economic system is geared towards transferring wealth from the young to the old, from the poor to the rich, and from anyone who works for a living to anyone who owns a share certificate. But don't worry, the government has launched a consultation. They always do.
In related news, I have just secured a 'strategic partnership' with a bottle of Gordon's gin. I call it my 'liquid pension'. It pays dividends in the form of forgetting how much I hate the term 'going forward'. I recommend you all adopt a similar strategy. It's the only investment that genuinely keeps you warm at night, even if you wake up with a vague sense of shame and a mild headache.
The final punchline, of course, is that even if you do everything right – save diligently, invest wisely, avoid avocados – a 'moderate' pension still won't be enough to afford the care home that will inevitably drain every last penny from your corpse before you're even cold. Unless you die quickly. Which, let's face it, is the real retirement goal.
Reform? We need a revolution. Or at the very least, a free bar at the retirement party. But until then, I'll be here, raising a glass to the three-quarters of you who are, like me, simply hoping to win the lottery or be hit by a mercifully swift bus before the pension runs out. Cheers.
