Extract from my book 'Corpalism'

Dr. Feelgood

“How is she today?”

“Much the same, Doctor,” answered Patrick, “she’s still coming out with this crazy stuff.”

“Mmm,” he said, walking into the main living space.

“Morning Doctor” said Delores.

“Good morning, Delores…and how are we today?”

“Well I’m in fine form,” said Delores, “but I can’t speak for everyone.”

Dr. Feelgood smiled, tightly. David closed his eyes.

“Have you been taking your medicine, Delores?”

“Yes, I have.” answered Delores.

“No, she hasn’t.” corrected Patrick.

“Patrick!” snapped Delores, “don’t you lie now, tell the Dr. the truth.”

“That is the truth, Delores,” said Patrick, with noticeably less conviction.

“Delores?” questioned the Doctor.

“Well okay, so I missed a few doses but to be honest Doc, I really don’t see the point.”

“And why’s that, Delores?”

“Because there’s nothing wrong with me” said Delores.

“Well, that’s a matter for others to decide, I think, Delores.”

“Look Doc, as far as I’m concerned, this is all some kind of crazy dream.”

“Which is why she’s been saying all those strange things on TV,” said Patrick.

“They aren’t ‘strange things’ Patrick, they make perfect sense.”

“Ah, they might make perfect sense to you, Delores,” said Dr. Feelgood, “but I’m afraid they’re a little off the wall to the rest of us.”

“Really? ...off the wall, you say?” Recognising the tone, Patrick groaned.

“Yes, off the wall, Delores.” She had so little insight into her own condition, it was pitiful.

“Well okay,” said Delores, “let’s try a new one on you then, shall we?”

“Er, Delores …,” started Patrick, “that might not be a good idea?”

“No, Patrick,” interrupted Dr. Feelgood, “it might be good therapy; it will certainly help me ascertain where we are with Delores’ treatment.”

Delores raised her eyebrows, “Ascertain where we are with my treatment? Well, let me ascertain where we are with your insanity, Doctor.”

“Delores….” Patrick fumbled and chewed his bottom lip, “Please don’t say anymore ‘til David’s here.”

“Oh, do shut up,” snapped Delores, “what’s David going to do? Stop me? Is that what you think, Patrick?”

“Er, no Delores,” stammered Patrick, “I just think David should know what’s being said.”

“Well, you can tell him later…well Doc, what shall we cover?”

“I don’t know, Delores. What do you want to cover?” said Dr. Feelgood.

“Take a seat,” she instructed, pointing to an armchair. She thought for a bit then said happily, “Ah, now I have it.”

“You do? Well, don’t give it to me then.” Neither one laughed; not Patrick who shuffled uncomfortably nor Delores who simply stared until the doctor looked away.

“Do you like my home, Doctor?”

“Yes, Delores, it’s very beautiful,” said Dr. Feelgood.

“I have several others, you know,” said Delores.

“I’m sure you do,” said Dr. Feelgood, “you’ve been very successful, Delores.”

“Haven’t I just,” agreed Delores, “tell me Doctor, do you own your own home?”

Patrick looked horrified at the question.

“Well, yes, Delores,” answered Dr. Feelgood.

“What’s it like?” asked Delores.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, where is it? What style is it? How many
rooms? How much land?”

“Oh well,” said Dr. Feelgood, “it’s a modern build, mock Georgian.”

“With pillared porch?” asked Delores.

“Yes actually,” answered Dr. Feelgood, “two pillars.”

“How many rooms?”

He looked surprised at her insistence, then recited, “Three receptions plus a study, a large kitchen/breakfast room, five bedrooms, three with en-suites, one ‘his and hers’ and one family bathroom and a wet room… oh and a conservatory.”

This was all said rather smugly, to Patrick he sounded annoyingly like an estate agent.

“Very nice,” said Delores, “sounds like it cost a pretty penny or two.”

“Indeed it did, but you know, being a professional, well, it helps.”

“I’ll bet it does, and is there much land?”

“Oh not much really,” he said, with a self-deprecating laugh, “an acre or so; I’m not there enough to do a lot of land justice.”

“Mmm, gardener then…” she narrowed her eyes, “so tell me, how much did it cost?”

“Well,” stammered Dr. Feelgood, “erm….”

“Delores,” said Patrick, “I don’t think the Doctor wants to part with that kind of information.”

“Ok …where is it?” asked Delores.

“Er, West Sussex.”

“On the coast or inland?” asked Delores.

“Inland.” said Dr. Feelgood.

“Interesting…” her eyes probed his and he felt
bubbles of sweat pop out on his brow, “then I’d say it probably set you back a cool 1.5, 1.8 million?”

“Delores,” squealed Patrick.

“Ignore him,” said Delores, “let’s call it a million, there or thereabouts?”

A short battle occurred between the desire to show-off and the Englishman’s innate secrecy about money. “Er, thereabouts.”

“And I’m guessing most of it is mortgaged,” said Delores.

“Delores, no…” squealed Patrick.

“If you can’t be quiet, Patrick, I suggest you go into the kitchen and make us all a cup of tea,” she turned to the doctor, the perfect hostess, “how do you take your tea, Doctor?”

“I’d rather have a coffee if I could…need the caffeine…” this last was said in a mumble.

“Coffee for the Doctor, tea for me, go on Patrick, get on with it.” He nodded and hurried from the room. “Right, let’s just examine the reality of your little bit of ownership, shall we?”

Dr. Feelgood folded his arms and leaned back in his seat, “Well, I’d be interested in hearing what you have to say, Delores.”

“Good because you’re going to hear it anyway,” she laughed, rather theatrically he thought, “you charge enough, and it’s on my time so you might as well hear what I have to say.”

He fidgeted irritably, he didn’t like people commenting on his fee, if that was what he charged then that was what he charged and if they didn’t like it then they could jolly well go elsewhere instead of making a song and dance about it, and talking of song and dance, he didn’t tell Delores how much to charge for tickets to her shows, did he.

“You think you own that house of yours and the little bit of land… what was it, 2 acres? …but you’re wrong Doctor, you don’t own it and you never will.”

“Well that’s just where you’re wrong Delores….”

“Sorry Doc, but if you just listen first, then you can comment. It’s my pound remember,” said Delores, “so I get to call the shots.” He smiled; his teeth together, gritted, trying for benign but achieving a grimace. “You don’t own that house, Doctor, the bank does…if you miss a payment or a number of payments what happens to the house? The bank takes it back, it kicks you out into the street and then it sells your house at rock bottom price and you are liable to any shortfall, is that right?”

“Well yes, of course the bank can claim the house if I don’t pay the mortgage but….”

“But what Doctor? …you’re secure in your profession? But what would happen if the bank suddenly had debts it couldn’t pay?” He stared at her. “It could force you to sell your house to cover its bad debt, couldn’t it?”

“I don’t think so, or if it could, it wouldn’t”

“In the small print of your mortgage it says that the bank can demand that you pay the full sum of your loan at anytime if so required by them … they can foreclose on the loan.”

“Yes, Delores, but that’s only a legal term to protect the bank.”

“Oh yes? And what legal terms are there in the small print to protect you? I mean, if you can’t afford the mortgage for whatever reason, unless you’ve taken out massively expensive income protection insurance, you’re stuffed. There is nothing in the mortgage small print that obliges the bank to sell the house at market value, thus protecting your investment. Don’t bother arguing, because we both know it’s the truth. If the house needs to be sold it’s sold at rock bottom price and the bank gets its money back first and any leftover (she laughs nastily at this point) is yours. In reality there most likely won’t be enough to repay the full loan of the mortgage so you are still liable for it. You owe them the difference. There is nothing in the documentation about the thousands or maybe even hundreds of thousands that you’ve invested in the property, your equity… it’s all just about the bank’s money.”

“They are putting up the loan,” said Dr. Feelgood, “which, to be fair, is most of the money.”

“But is that fair, Doctor? I mean, you work hard to buy the house, you’re the ‘owner-occupier’…you put all of your money, effort, savings into the property but if some financial or economic disaster should befall you or your family then that house that you thought was ‘your home’, that house you thought you ‘owned’, that little bit of England you put all your hopes and dreams and efforts into suddenly belongs to the bank? No Doctor, not suddenly… it always belonged to the bank and you were just maintaining it for them, improving it for them so its market value would rise and they would get more money out of it.”

“Now that’s not true,” said Dr, Feelgood, “because any increase in value is mine when I sell the house.”

“Ah ha, but you won’t ever realise the cash, will you? No, you’ll succumb to pressure, from your wife, from the chaps down at the club, from colleagues and you’ll sell it in order to buy another, yet more expensive house with a bigger mortgage. You won’t realise the cash but the banks will feel the benefit. Okay, in this instance it might not be the same bank but for them it’s all swings and roundabouts, isn’t it.”

“I’m not sure I …?” the good doctor was struggling to keep his head above water, it was not just the strength of argument that was the problem but the fact that it was Delores putting it forward.

“Whichever bank lends the money to the new buyer of your house is the true benefactor of the increase in the value of your property. Let’s say, the house was priced at £1.9m when you bought it a few years ago, say you’ve improved it a bit and the market has risen a bit, and it now sells at £2.3m. Unless the buyer has a very large deposit to put down the bank will be in the position of granting a larger mortgage, which equates to more debt, more interest on that debt, higher monthly payments and, all in all, more money for the banks.”

“What?”

“And this goes right across the board to all property, which you never actually own, don’t you see, Doctor? You and others like you are helping the banks to drive up the price of houses so that they can lend ever more money to people like you so that they earn more interest. It’s just a method of driving debt upwards, creating inflation in debt as opposed to inflation in products.”

He was looking seriously confused by now. So far neither of them had noticed Patrick’s failure to return from the kitchen.

“And to top it off,” said Delores, “not only are you paying this huge debt to the banks but the banks also really own your house, you don’t.”

“Well,” stammered Dr. Feelgood, “I think I own my house.”

“That’s the beauty of the con, you think you do but you don’t, you just rent it via a mortgage from the banks and let’s face it, Doc …you could actually rent something far bigger than the house you’re ‘buying’ (she did the annoying two fingers of each hand inverted commas thing) for less monthly outlay. Truth be told, the whole ‘own your own home’ (again with the fingers) thing was just a massive swindle by the Conservatives to try and make more money out of the working classes.”

“No, no…, no…” His head was shaking furiously.

“Yes, yes, yes, and you know who owns the banks, Doc? Why, the really big shareholders, of course and by that I don’t mean the pension schemes, I mean the obscenely rich, the lords and ladies, the aristocracy, the wealthy entrepreneurs.”

He raised his finger as if he wanted to speak but he didn’t have an argument mustered so Delores continued. “Actually I think the word ‘entrepreneur’ is a fiddle, as well, don’t you? I mean it’s bandied around like it’s a good thing but exactly what is an ‘entrepreneur’? It’s a person who has an idea and a bit of money, tricks other people into working for a fixed salary, and markets a product at way above its true value, effectively stealing from the purchasers, so that he can have a vast profit that makes him a millionaire. How can that be right? He didn’t do all the work, did he? No, the employees did that, so surely they deserve a bigger share in the profits for their efforts. Also why rip off the customer? Why not charge just enough to cover the costs and allow you to make more? Why so greedy?”

“Well, Delores,” he said, finding his feet and a patronising tone, “I think that’s economics and I think that’s best explained by people who actually understand how the system works.”

“Economists don’t know how the system works, you silly man,” said Delores, right back at you, Doc, “They just know how to make something really simple appear really complicated.”

Dr. Feelgood’s face was all skepticism but no words came to his lips.

The Delores tank rolled on inexorably, “You get a mortgage to buy a house, a larger mortgage than the previous owner because the price of the house has been artificially increased by the market, which is controlled by the banks. Then you live in the house for a few years paying a lot more in mortgage payments than you would if you were renting a similar property. But hey, you ‘own’ it and can ‘do things to it’…things that cost even more money, by the way… so you maintain its upkeep, improve it with say a new kitchen or bathroom; the more salubrious the neighbourhood the more expensive the kitchen would need to be – a Küche & Cucina, say; impressing your cleaner is very important after all and at the end you sell it to someone else for more than you paid for it so they’ll need an even bigger mortgage. And all the while everyone is paying all this money to the banks and the banks give the money to their shareholders, the biggest of whom are the incredibly rich. This, when you boil it all down, means that you’re taking a large sum out of your wages and passing it across to some rich person to live large, whilst you and others like you struggle to make their monthly payments. Basically you’ve been screwed, Doc, but somehow they’ve convinced you that you own a bit of England, when the truth is you don’t really own anything, you’re just renting it at a higher cost and they can take it back from you any time they want. It’s all just a card trick, Doc. All just ‘smoke and mirrors’ and that’s what’s getting to me.”

Dr. Feelgood stared open mouthed.

“I can’t help it Doc, but for some reason I can see it all clearly, like it’s laid out before me.”

“I…I…” stammered Dr. Feelgood.

“Drinks are served,” said Patrick entering the room.

The doorbell rang.

“That’ll be David,” said Patrick, “I took the liberty of phoning him from the kitchen, you don’t mind, do you Delores?”

“I think I’m going to take my leave now anyway,” said Dr. Feelgood.

“Okay Doc.” said Delores, “but you think about what I’ve said.”

“I certainly will do that, Delores.”

“The thing is although I know things have always been like this and I’ve always accepted them it’s just that they’ve never seemed so outrageous to me before, does that make sense?”

“Well, of course,” said Dr. Feelgood.

“I’m not stupid either,” said Delores, “I know it has something to do with these damned 40 day and 40 nights but I can’t for the life of me see what, apart from the possibility of course that I’m in a hospital bed in a coma like from the series…”

“Life on Mars,” murmured Dr. Feelgood.

“Exactly,” said Delores, “but then you wouldn’t be real, would you, Doc which means you’d resist any such suggestion.”

Dr. Feelgood grimaced.

“Hello everyone,” said David entering the room.

“Good bye,” said Dr. Feelgood taking his leave.

“Oh,” said David, “was it something I said?”

“No,” said Delores, “I think that honour belongs to me.”