Rapid Response

Bushels and pecks and barleycorns a glorious inheritance chains, leagues, gills the tides of history the great rolling mass of history, our reclaimed birthright one holds back a tear while ordering a quarter of humbugs for everything is quantifiably British now, we can measure our waiting lists in leagues, count our dead by the hundredweight observe the roods of sleeping bags and cardboard the queue at the food bank is ten perches long (or ten rods, if you prefer, either way, it's 250 links) two gallons to the peck of tears four to the half bushel emphasise the Imperial ahead of the measurement, and why stop there? why not count the flow of money in florins settling gently on the floors of offshore counting-houses Universal Credit, reduced by guineas but a thrupennny bit for nurses, be grateful have a shilling, console yourself that even if there's no food on the shelves at least we can measure nothing in ounces

everyone worked hard for everything that they have and they'll let you know it wasn't that they had anything handed to them: they sacrificed and you should too, if you would just work hard enough why won't you do that? torrents of advice things you need to stop doing: having takeaways drinking your coffee eating smashed avocado on toast , for your brunch we never had those things we had house prices at three times annual wage not twenty-six, sure but not avocados  you just expect it all we sat on the floor for years , and yet you expect chairs as your birthright and okay houses were much cheaper then than now but what do you think we meant when we said sacrifice ? we meant yours, for us, for our houses