Ah, the joys of being a capitalist in a world where the mere mention of it makes some people’s eyebrows shoot up faster than a thermometer in a heatwave. Yes, I confess, I am a bit right of centre, and to some, that might as well be akin to saying I’ve decided to become a professional tightrope walker in my spare time. But let me clarify, I’m not here to preach the gospel according to Adam Smith, nor am I about to launch into a tirade about how the invisible hand is the best thing since sliced bread—though I wouldn’t argue against it. No, I’m just here to give you a glimpse into the glorious life of a self-proclaimed capitalist, which, as it turns out, is not exactly the walk in the park that some might imagine.
Let’s start with the basics. Capitalism, in its most distilled form, is quite simply the belief that if you’ve got an idea and a bit of elbow grease, you can turn that into a business. Now, there are those out there who are perfectly content to clock in at 9 am, clock out at 5 pm, and spend their evenings binge-watching the latest must-see series on Netflix. And you know what? More power to them! I say, each to their own. But that’s not for me. Oh no, I prefer to spend my time concocting business ideas like a mad scientist in a lab, throwing in a dash of creativity, a splash of cash, and hoping it doesn’t all explode in my face.
Take my model shop, for instance. There I was, staring at a derelict shop that had all the charm of a cold cup of tea, thinking, “This place could be something!” So what did I do? I paid for a lease, put down my hard-earned money to fit it out, wired it up, laid down some carpet, built shelves, and stocked it to the brim. All on my own dime. Then, I hired staff—three, to be exact. These fine folks get paid, week in, week out, regardless of whether we’ve sold a model plane or a single pot of paint. They’ve got wages to spend on their bills, petrol, and the occasional takeaway, all while paying their taxes that contribute to our beloved NHS and other public services.
But where does that leave me, you ask? Ah, well, you see, I’m the one footing the bill for all the stock, the VAT, the national insurance, the shop insurance, the public liability, the employer’s liability, the window insurance, the contents insurance… Need I go on? By the time everyone else is paid and the bills are covered, there’s often not a lot left for me. Yet, here I am, still plugging away. Why? Because I’m in it for the long haul, hoping to grow the business and, maybe, just maybe, make a bit of money in the process.
Now, enter stage left: the self-confessed socialist who waltzed into my shop the other day and informed me that I was wrong to be a capitalist. “You should share your wealth,” they declared with the sort of confidence that only comes from someone who’s never had to sign a business loan. Well, after I stopped laughing, I explained that my employees actually take home more pay than I do. Yes, you heard that right. In the hierarchy of who gets paid, I’m at the bottom of the ladder. So, why on earth would I do it? Because, dear reader, that’s what being a capitalist is all about. It’s not about getting rich quick; it’s about taking a risk, building something from nothing, and seeing where it takes you.
But of course, no good deed goes unpunished. Just when you think you’re getting somewhere, along comes the government with their latest bright idea—like rebranding pensions as a ‘benefit’. A benefit? Excuse me while I retrieve my knitting, which has just been thoroughly ripped. How on earth can a pension, something we’ve all been dutifully paying into for years, suddenly be downgraded to the same level as a free bus pass? And don’t even get me started on the notion that we should be taxing the rich to “spread the love.” As if the wealthy have some sort of magical money tree in their back garden that they’re selfishly keeping to themselves.
Let’s be clear: I’m all for paying my fair share of taxes. But when I hear that our hard-earned money is being used to send millions in aid to countries like India—yes, the same India that has a booming economy, a space programme, and more billionaires than you can shake a stick at—I have to wonder if we’ve lost the plot. And while we’re at it, how about the £8 million a week we’re spending on housing illegal immigrants in hotels? I mean, come on! Our pensioners are having their so-called ‘benefits’ cut, while we’re rolling out the red carpet for people who haven’t put a penny into the system. It just doesn’t add up.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for helping those in need—Britain has a long and proud history of stepping up when the world needs us. But there’s a right way and a wrong way to do things, and I can’t help but feel that our current approach is a bit like throwing money into the wind and hoping some of it lands where it’s supposed to.
So yes, I’m a capitalist, and yes, I’m a bit right of centre. But at the end of the day, it all boils down to one simple truth: you get out of life what you put into it. And as long as I’ve got a bit of fight left in me, I’ll keep on putting in the hard graft, running my businesses, and maybe—just maybe—one day, I’ll be able to sit back and enjoy the fruits of my labour. Until then, I’ll keep ranting, keep working, and keep dreaming. After all, that’s what being a capitalist is all about.
There you have it—a light-hearted rant filled with the frustrations, joys, and ironies of being a right-leaning capitalist. It’s all in good fun, but with a few serious points thrown in for good measure. Cheers to all the hard workers out there, whether you’re clocking in at 9 or burning the midnight oil!