In a revelation that has shocked absolutely no one, a new report has found that a staggering three-quarters of UK workers are not on track for a decent pension. The report, likely commissioned by someone with a very nice pension, paints a grim picture of a nation that has collectively decided that tomorrow is a problem for future, slightly more worried versions of ourselves. The remainder, presumably, are either trust fund babies or have invested heavily in beanie babies.
Let us pause to appreciate the sheer poetry of this statistic. Three-quarters. That is not a rounding error. That is a national confession. That is the sound of a country waking up, looking at its bank account, and saying, “Well, that’s a problem for 2045 Biff. And 2045 Biff is a problem drinker.” The pension deficit is not a hole; it is a canyon. And we are all, apparently, driving towards it at speed with our eyes glued to a screen showing us videos of cats.
The report, ominously titled something like “Golden Years: More Like Rusted Shed Years” (I may be paraphrasing), claims that auto-enrolment, the government’s flagship policy, has done much to get people saving. But saving what exactly? The price of a Greggs sausage roll each month? Because that is about what the average worker is putting away. It is like trying to fill the Grand Canyon with a teaspoon. A teaspoon that is frequently mislaid down the back of the sofa.
Meanwhile, the financial pundits are out in force. They are on the telly, in their nice suits, telling us to “cut back on lattes” and “consider a side hustle”. What side hustle? Selling a kidney on the black market? Because that is the going rate for a modest retirement in Bournemouth. They do not mention that the real problem is that wages have been stagnant for a decade, housing is a nightmare, and the word “definite” now applies only to death and taxes.
The self-employed are in even more dire straits. They are the forgotten pensioners of the future, currently living on dreams and the occasional invoice. They are the ones who will be working until they are 85, selling hand-made dreamcatchers at craft fairs, dreaming of a day when they can afford to buy a proper loaf of bread.
And what of the government? They are of course deeply concerned. They plan to “look into it”. Which is code for forming a committee that will meet thrice yearly to eat biscuits and produce a report that will be ignored. The chancellor, in a recent interview, described the situation as “challenging but manageable”. Which is exactly what a captain might say as his ship hits an iceberg. “Bit of a moisture ingress issue, chaps. Carry on with the shuffleboard.”
So what is to be done? Well, for a start, we could stop pretending that buying a house is a pension plan. It is not. Your home is not a cash machine. Unless you plan to live in a cardboard box and eat the equity. We could also demand that the state pension, currently a princely sum that barely covers the cost of a single oat milk latte per day, be increased. But that would involve… oh, I cannot say it. It would involve someone in power caring.
In the meantime, my advice is this: invest in a good pair of comfortable shoes. Because you will be walking a lot in retirement. You will be walking to the supermarket to collect your reduced-price bread. You will be walking to the library to use their free internet. You will be walking away from any conversation about pensions. And for God’s sake, start hoarding gin. It is the only currency that will hold its value.
