The Story of a Generation Robbed ...

Heyy, 

Sat on my second hand-sofa, in my cheap one-bed ground floor flat I struggled to hold back the tears and be happy for the other person on the other end of the phone. After the death of the Landlord, my Dad's girlfriend had recently found out that the property where they both live is being put on the market. With both of them being over fifty, the likelihood of them getting a mortgage was slim and renting would only solve the problem short-term until they retire, and then what? They had both spent the last few weeks stressing over where they were going to be living in a few months time. With some savings they were in a sticky situation but at least they had some savings, maybe not enough for what they wanted, but it was a start, something myself, nor Mr. Warehouse had not even managed to achieve yet. 

Apparently somewhere between the beginning and the end of last month, my father had found enough money for a large deposit on a two-bedroom new built property in an affluent area of outer Bedford. Listening to his excitement yesterday evening I really tried so hard to be supportive and what a "good daughter" should do in that instance. But it was hard, especially when only weeks ago I was explaining about mine and Mr. Warehouse's recent meeting with a mortgage adviser who has pretty much disappeared off the face of the planet since he found out we had no savings. At the time I spoke to my Dad about it in deep meaningful conversation and he mentioned to me on several occasions that he would love to help me out financially but he simply couldn't as he didn't have the money; A phrase which was common when I had difficulties involving financial cost, even when I hadn't asked him for anything. 

Now I am not ignorant or silly to know that when all this was happening, my father, and admittedly his girlfriend, were faced with some hard decisions and tough challenges. Stuck in a situation far worse than mine and with only a decade or two left before retiring their options were limited. So in that respects I fully understand them using the money stashed away from my parents divorce to fund a bright and colourful new home. Either support myself and my girlfriend by funding our own home together and long-term securing our futures together, or gift the only child of two I speak to the once in the chance lifetime of owning her own home and getting onto the property ladder once and for all. 

Of course it is a difficult situation but to be told one thing and then a matter of moments later to find out another is emotional-fuckery. If I am brutally honest I'm really having a hard time processing the lies he had told me previously about how he was not able to help out with the money, both in years gone by and in more recent times, all along knowing that he had enough for generous deposit on a swanky new home. Heartbroken I listened on to the tall-tales and arduous task of choosing tiles and kitchen cupboard doors for his off-plan bought apartment. Welling up I ended the conversation unhappy and on the brink of tears. This wasn't fair. 

As detailed in my previous post (Wish I Was Born In The 80's!) I feel like a robbed generation that has to beg, borrow and steal their way through life, just to make ends meet. The world has moved on and whilst we have better technology, medical advances and new threats to worry about the days of being in a job for the rest of your working life are gone, as are 100% mortgages and a loaf of bread the would cost under fifty-pence. Life now for myself and other millennial's whose parents didn't start them off in life with a Mickey Mouse Trust fund for Eton begins at the bottom. Virtually no chance of getting into University for all the other places have been taken by students who have money and come from a better background to I. Ergo the rest of us muddle our way though our late-teens and early-twenties trying to get by on a pittance of a wage, all because of the generations before us. 

Now by no stretch am I poor or even on the breadline; Mr. Warehouse and I have nice meals out, go on holidays or mini weekends away and are always treating each other to nice presents on birthdays and Christmas. And maybe that is our downfall for if we were not spending this on each other then we could plough it into a house of our own, but the simple fact is that it would take close to a decade to save and in that time I want my life to progress further than a poky flat in the centre of town. I want to get married and have children in that sort of time frame and I can hardly bring up a family when I am trying to scrape every penny I have into a Help-To-Buy ISA. 

I get that my Father couldn't have split his savings with me, although would have been very nice, it would have practically made no sense what-so-ever, so I do understand his actions, I really do, I just don't understand the porkie-pies he told to try and protect his small fortune and it s for that reason that this news will be a hard pill for me to swallow. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx