Checking my dad’s property paperwork from 2000 has officially ruined my week.

Let’s be real for a second: this cannot just be down to inflation. I refuse to believe it.

I’ve recently been designated as my dad’s unpaid, permanent administrative assistant now that he and my mum have casually jetted off back to Pakistan. Where are they living, you ask? Oh, just a casual three-storey mansion he built on his dads land. Complete with a maid. And a driver. You know, just the standard, baseline retirement package for a guy who spent his life working in manual textile factories and driving a taxi.

The other day, I was sitting with his solicitor doing some admin, and I happened to glance at the paperwork for his old two-bed terraced house up North. He bought it in the year 2000.

Purchase price: £32,000.

The deposit? A grand total of £7,000.

Seven. Thousand. Pounds. Are you actually kidding me? £7k wouldn’t even cover the stamp duty if I wanted to move house today, let alone buy a whole house! And here’s the kicker, this wasn't even his first property. He already owned two others at the time!

Meanwhile, here I am at 27, working hard, staring blankly at investment and ISA options, actively stressing over how to aggressively supplement my NHS pension so I’m not eating cat food when I’m 70.

And what is my dad’s complex, high-IQ financial portfolio? He doesn't even have a private pension.

 State pension? Check. Around £900 a month.

 Rental income from his tenants? Check. Around 3K a month.

 Total worries? Zero. Other than he might find me annoying.

And Pakistan is DIRT CHEAP to live in.

He is out there living his absolute best life in a mansion, having worked a completely normal working-class job. He started in the textile mills at 15, got hit by the brutal Thatcher era outsourcing wave, pivoted to being a taxi driver, and somehow still won the capitalism lottery.

Look, I love the man, and fair play to him, he made smart choices with what he had. I only remember seeing him on Sundays as he worked morning till way late into the night every single da. But let's be honest, they are living the absolute dream.

We weren't just born too late; we were born into a completely different simulation. Can someone please point me toward the time machine? Because I'd quite like to go back and buy a street for the price of a modern used car.

Kind Regards

The admin child

(Currently accepting tips, allowances, or deeds to three storey mansions in lieu of an actual inheritance or waiting for someone to tell my brown skin to go back to my country so I can ask them to pay for my ticket 🥹)