High Street R(sn)obbery

It's time we had a chat about the Great British High Street massacre and the latest casualty, as well as its ginormous effect on Leeds - a City I love almost as much as Keyboards. Almost Famous, that burger joint where you could stuff your face with enough calories to power a small village, has gone tits up.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Oh no, Jae, where will I get my fix of heart-stopping, artery-clogging goodness?" Well, fear not, because there are still plenty of places where you can exchange your hard-earned cash for a slab of meat between two bits of bread. But that's not the point, is it?

The point is that this is just another nail in the coffin of British dining out. It's like we're all stuck in some sort of economic purgatory, where our wallets are as empty as a politician's promises and our stomachs are rumbling louder than a shitty old Epomaker that's lost all its foam and the tiny bit of charm it started out with.

You see, the problem isn't that Almost Famous couldn't make a decent burger. No, the problem is that we've all become as poor as church mice. And not just any church mice, mind you, but the ones that live in a church where the vicar's been nicking from the collection plate. It's a vicious cycle, really. We can't afford to eat out, so restaurants close. When restaurants close, people lose their jobs. When people lose their jobs, they can't afford to eat out. It's enough to make you want to bang your head against a wall, except you can't afford the medical bills if you do.

And don't even get me started on the landlords. They're sitting pretty, charging rents that would make a Saudi oil sheikh blush, while the rest of us are scraping together pennies to buy a Pot Noodle. It's like they're playing Monopoly, but with real money and real lives.

You’d think they’d want their properties filled with bustling businesses, wouldn’t you? After all, an empty shop is about as useful as a chocolate teapot. But no, these clever clogs have a different game in mind. They keep rents sky-high, even if it means half their units sit empty, because it props up the value of their property portfolios. That’s right—charging extortionate rents isn’t about getting tenants; it’s about keeping their assets looking shiny on paper so they can borrow against them. It’s like owning a Keycult you never use, but polishing it every day to impress your discord server full of juvenile imbeciles. Meanwhile, the rest of us are left staring at boarded-up windows and wondering why the high street looks like a post-apocalyptic wasteland. It’s genius, really—if your goal is to turn cities into ghost towns while sipping champagne on your yacht.

So, what's the solution? Well, I could tell you to pull yourselves up by your bootstraps and make your own bloody burgers at home. But let's face it, if you're reading this, you're probably too lazy to do that. And besides, cooking at home doesn't help the poor sods who've just lost their jobs at Almost Famous and every other failed retail outlet, does it?

No, what we need is for someone to pull their finger out and fix this mess. Maybe we could start by paying people enough to actually live on, instead of wages that wouldn't keep a hamster in sawdust. Or perhaps we could stop treating the high street like it's a game of real estate Jenga, seeing how many businesses we can pull out before the whole thing comes crashing down.

But until then, we'll just have to watch as more and more "To Let" signs pop up like acne on a teenager's face. And remember, the next time you're thinking of splashing out on a burger, a keyboard, or anything else, you might want to do it sooner rather than later. Because at this rate, the only thing left on the high street will be pound shops and despair.

I wonder what Mr Starmer thinks about that...