My generation has grown up with a government that doesn’t care about us

It feels particularly hard at the moment to escape the feeling that everything is rubbish, everything has been rubbish for a long time and everything will probably continue to be rubbish for many years to come.

For all of my working adult life, I have lived under a Conservative (or Conservative coalition) government. I was 16 years old when David Cameron came to power. We’re on our third Tory prime minister, and this state of affairs doesn’t seem likely to change any time soon.

I’m now fast approaching my thirties and I can’t help but still feel as if I’m in a sort of extended adolescence. I’ve been working in one form or another since I was about 13 years old – I started out waitressing in a village tea room, worked in retail throughout sixth form and swerved university to join the world of work. Since starting a career in media-related things at the age of 18, I’ve always enjoyed and taken great pride in my work. I like earning my own money, being independent and working towards goals.

But at the same time, it’s hard not to feel slightly stuck. It’s a heavy topic among young people, but recently I’ve been thinking about the possibility of one day owning a house. For most of my twenties, I simply refused to entertain the idea that one day I could have a place of my own. Even more than that, I slightly turned my nose up at the idea that I might want one. It’s a huge commitment, mostly financial, but also in that by buying a property, you’re pretty much setting down your roots for good, or at least a pretty hefty chunk of your life.

Now that I’m getting older, my friends are starting to climb the ladder. Gossip with friends I went to school with has turned from hushed whispers about who has slept with who to questions over coffee about mortgage advisers and property deeds. I’ve started to feel pangs of jealousy as I scroll through Instagram, seeing pictures of friends doing up their recently purchased properties, filling them with mid-century furniture finds from Facebook Marketplace.

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I’m starting to crave the sense of belonging that comes with owning a place of my own. I’d love to live alone and paint the living room a questionable shade of green, without having to worry about finding out whether a landlord would allow it. Even the possibility of renting by myself seems like a pipe dream, without taking into account Kirstie Allsopp’s magic wisdom that basically amounts to “stop paying for anything that gives you joy” and “move away to somewhere more affordable, even if it’s far from your friends, family and work opportunities”.

It’s often said that money doesn’t make you happy and there is a part of me that knows this to be true. But, then again, it doesn’t half help. Last week’s news about energy prices was the icing on the cake. Ours is a country that doesn’t really care about the prosperity or even contentment of its people unless they’re wealthy.

We have a generation of young people who have grown up with a government that doesn’t care about them. University tuition fees have been tripled, funding for youth centres has been cut. Brexit, voted for largely by the older generations, has been a blow both financially and culturally. The cost of living seems like it’s only going to go up, and it feels like young people are being blamed for not wanting to return to the dreaded nine-to-five routine of office life.

I’m usually someone who tries to look out for the joys in life. I love the little things: a walk in the woods, coffee with friends, a delicious pastry. But when I think about the future and what it looks like for me and my peers – who don’t have access to a certain kind of wealth – it all seems rather bleak.