July 25th 2016

Today I started to repay my student loan. After my first full month of proper employment, a sum of money was deducted from my payslip as I begin my 50 year journey of giving the government a decent chunk of the money I earn. 

To be fair to the government, they did pay for me to get through uni, and they paid for my accommodation fees, and probably a couple of jaegerbombs before I realised that I can’t drink jaegerbombs. There’s also that free healthcare thing that’s always worked out pretty well for me. 

I can’t give them too much stick, really. It’s just a bit heartbreaking to give away basically 20% of everything I earn. I don’t even know how it works. I don’t know if get that money back one day, or if they just take it as a down payment on any future hospital fees I may incur, or what. I know that I will basically never pay off my student loan, which I’m totally fine with. Today I repayed £30 of my £40,000 loan. Even if I work in this country for the next 50 years, paying £30 a month, I’ll not even be half way to paying that back. 

Cheers, Dave. 

Wait. No. 

Cheers, Theresa, I guess. Or Tony. Fuck it I don’t know. 

I am only slightly bitter about the fact that the job I now do in no way requires the degree that I did. I mean, I did a maths degree and I’m in a content writing career. I’m not saying that the Maths degree was useless, but… Well. 

So I’m down £40 grand and I have a degree that is basically worthless to me. Sure, any degree is proof of an aptitude of knowledge and commitment, and Maths is a pretty reputable degree. It’s just not gonna prove very useful to me. 

Oh well. I enjoyed myself. Well, I enjoyed the parts of Uni that weren’t the Maths bits. But now that’s over and I’m the kind of guy who pays tax, national insurance and contributes to a pension scheme (I don’t even know if that’s true. I should probably find out) 

And I guess this is it. The grind to the end of the month for the pay check, grind to the end of the year for Christmas, grind to the end of life for retirement and/or death, whichever comes first. 

And, at some point, hand a metaphorical suitcase full of twenty pound notes over to whomever resides at 10 Downing Streeet and say ‘thanks for the jaegermesiter’ 

Until tomorrow, I never liked tequila either. 


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