The struggles of the Guardianista

The recession has created a whole new sub-genre of journalism at the Guardian and Observer newspapers (which these days are run out of the same stable). They are excellent titles both, and the natural home of liberal thought in the British press, but my god there's a self-satisfied middle class smugness about the writing at times. Now I may be on dodgy ground here. After all, any journalist is looking for good copy in the events of the day, they have to write their words knowing their readers, and these days they increasingly mine their own lives for material. However...

Suspect 1: Observer magazine, Sunday 1 March, How I learned to live with my frugal husband by Harriet Green (her real name). Harriett writes how she is having to forgo spa treatments and trips to Liberty because husband Jean-Paul is 'frugal'. Instead of taking the kids to Nando's, he's out foraging for nettle leaves and dandelions, reclaiming wood from skips that he can then knit into furniture, and repointing the house with his own excrement. This is a husband who cuts up his apple then saves each pip saying 'each one is a potential tree'. Leaving aside that the correct response is to wrest the knife from his hand and plunge it into his spleen, there are constant reminders that, actually, this couple aren't struggling in any way at all. Jean-Paul grudgingly visits John Frieda to have a haircut, accepts that the 'hugely expensive Paper Denim & Cloth jeans' that Hazza makes him buy are actually better than the ones he's made from old pizza flyers. The overall impression is of an affluent couple playing at poverty ... and isn't it all fun.

Step forward suspect 2: Graham Snowdon in the Guardian 'Money Blog' of Wednesday 4 March, who professes himself 'Dazed and Confused' by 'the heap of neglected bills, bank statements and other correspondence sits festering on my bedside unit. I stare at it hoping it might disappear – or at least get smaller – by sheer force of will, but it refuses to budge'. Graham witters on upon unopened credit card statements, a demand from his optician that he get his eyes tested before they 'release' his contact lenses and then the killing line - which shows that we're talking real poverty, not just your boring northern underclass, never worked, never will, malnourished stuff. Graham has 'two fee statements from my son's nursery'. Graham builds his bills into a Jenga tower and professes himself 'overwhelmed. Where should I start, any suggestions gratefully received'.

Pro bloggers will recognise this canny disingenousness as the come-on to generate user-generated content so beloved of the UK broadsheets. I seed the subject, you write loads of choleric replies, we get free content. We might even run some Adwords down the side to monetise the thing. And Guardian readers, bless 'em, respond in droves. Here's a tip Graham. Pay the bills and stop pretending to be poor.

Suspect 3: Guardian 4 March My Big Green Wedding. Full marks for eco-awareness here, as the Guardian recycles this headline from a similar piece in 2004. Here, five 'ordinary' women talk about how they are going to reduce the cost, carbon footprint, waste and enjoyability of their special day. 'Transport was a green priority and, fortunately, Fishers Farm Park were prepared to supply us with a Shire horse and antique hay wagon. After the wedding I crushed the empty champagne bottles and put them in our kiln to make cheese plates' writes Becci of West Sussex. Great tip Becci, and one people will be copying across Britain. Kristie and Anthony reduced costs and carbon by serving seasonal food 'wild duck, which we captured on site'. I'm off into my own garden with the catapult to 'source' some squirrels and feral cats for the kids' tea. 

'Even the confetti was grown in my garden' writes Caroline Flint bafflingly. I scan my own garden for clues. So that confetti would be ... leaves? grass? dog shit? Let's move on. Melissa and Alastair of North Devon 'use organic caterers who promise entirely biodegradable equipment. The plates will be made of palm leaves, the cutlery of local wood and the glasses of corn starch. We're going to travel to and from the wedding on a horse which will help reduce our footprint. The cider is going to come from Devon's finest breweries. Wood burning fires will provide all the energy we need for the wedding.' Not sure about that last bit Caroline ... I'd check what the guests are inhaling in the toilets to give them that extra little burst of energy needed to carry them through to the early hours. Bewilderingly, Caroline refers to her honeymoon as 'relatively local' (ie not local) as they travel from Northampton to the Lake District, and boasts that 'all the home grown materials also helped keep the costs below £10,000'.

What seems to have escaped our contributors and the Guardian itself, is that to most Britons, recession means fear of unemployment, tough decisions on how to feed the family, horrible uncertainty about the future and the realisation that their pension and savings nest eggs ain't going to hatch. Not marginal decisions on how to spend on luxuries such as £10,000 weddings, children's nurseries and £50 haircuts. Such stuff is not only laughable but weirdly out of tune with the times.