In a move that has stunned nobody over the age of 40, Marks & Spencer has announced a traineeship programme for 1,000 young people, ostensibly to tackle the scourge of youth unemployment. But let us not mince words: this is the same M&S that has spent the past decade shedding staff like a molting snake while simultaneously raising the price of a ready meal to that of a small mortgage. The programme, dubbed something insufferably corporate like 'M&S Futures' (I imagine they trademarked the word 'future' in 1987 and have been sitting on it ever since), offers 12 weeks of employment to 18-24 year olds who have been out of work for six months or more.
The lucky candidates will receive £190 a week for their troubles, which is roughly the cost of a weekly shop for a family of four at their local Waitrose, and will be tasked with 'learning the ropes' in stores and warehouses. But what ropes, exactly? The ancient art of overpricing a Percy Pig?
The delicate balance between a Colin the Caterpillar cake and a Mary Berry sponge? Or perhaps the true secret: that the entire operation is held together by a collective delusion that we all still buy our knickers from them? The real scandal, however, is not that M&S is offering a pittance to work for a company that made a pre-tax profit of £31.
4 million last year. No, the scandal is that this is being hailed as a 'solution' to youth unemployment. Youth unemployment stands at a healthy 12%, a figure that would be far higher if not for the fact that most young people are now forced to work zero-hours contracts in the gig economy, delivering takeaway food to people who can't be bothered to reheat a lasagne.
But here's the kicker: M&S will not guarantee a job at the end of the 12 weeks. So what we have is a 12-week charity ward for the lost goslings of Millennialia, a brief glimpse into the world of adult corporate hell before being spat back out onto the dole queue. And let's not forget the irony: M&S is simultaneously closing 14 of its stores nationwide, laying off hundreds of employees, and then turning around to 'create' a thousand temporary positions.
It's like offering a drowning man a glass of water while treading on his fingers. This is the sort of performatively benevolent capitalism that makes you want to vomit, drink a bottle of gin, vomit again, and then write a strongly worded letter to the Times. But the Times won't print it because the editor's nephew is on the board of M&S.
So here we are, in the gutter, staring up at the stars and realising they're just price tags. M&S, you absolute bastards. You've done it again.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to buy some Percy Pigs with my last fiver, because I too am a victim of the system, and at least they're still 98p.
