I May Go to Jail

Hello! I’m Matthew, and not too long ago, my family and I packed up and moved from a small town in Wyoming to the bustling streets of London, England. “Howdy, London!” is my way of sharing our adventures with friends and family. But if you’ve stumbled across this and we’ve never met—welcome! I’d love to hear from you, so feel free to drop a comment below and introduce yourself. Now, let’s dive in!

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Alright, I admit it—this headline might be a bit of clickbait. But I did receive a rather stern letter threatening me with a hefty fine and a surprise visit from the TV License Inspector.

A TV license? What in the bloody… are you on about?

Last week, I came home to a letter informing me that I was in gross violation of the law requiring a £159-per-year license to watch live TV from the comfort of my own sofa. Apparently, my failure to comply with this sacred British institution has put the very fabric of society at risk, warranting a £1,000 fine plus all legal costs. I was instructed to immediately call the number listed, surrender my credit card information, and purchase my TV license without delay.

Failure to do so, the letter warned, would result in an inspector showing up at my doorstep, ready to barge in at any hour to catch me in the criminal act of watching The Joy of Painting with Bob Ross on my (hypothetical) 110” plasma TV with epic surround sound.

Now, let’s be clear: when I moved to London, I knew I’d be trading some of my American freedoms. My cherished Red Ryder BB gun was left in the loving hands of my six-year-old nephew back in Wyoming. I was prepared for the fact that in the UK, the right to remain silent is a little less sacred and that my cozy right to privacy was, shall we say, subject to broader interpretation by the government. I made peace with these trade-offs because, hey, who wouldn't want to live in this amazing city?

Just one of the amazing views here in London.

But what I didn’t expect was to have to pay £159 for the most basic human right of all—the right to watch old reruns of Friends in my own home. If someone had told me that enjoying the simple pleasures of life, like Ross and Rachel’s on-again, off-again drama, would come at such a cost, I might have thought twice before packing my bags.

So now I face a choice: do I bow to oppression, or do I take a stand?

Today, I choose to fight.

I will not surrender my hard-earned pounds for a TV license. Send your inspector, search my cupboards, peer behind my dusty bookshelves, but you will find no evidence of illicit TV viewing here.

Mostly because, well, it’s the 21st century, and who watches live TV anymore?

Hello, Netflix.

And we don’t actually own a TV or a sofa, so I’m not exactly losing sleep over it.

Cheers,
Matthew

Disclaimer: TV licenses are indeed a very real thing in the UK, but I’m pretty sure this letter was a scam, so I didn’t bother calling the number. If I am wrong, I will be requesting donations for my bail. Also, since my blog is probably being monitored by MI5, please understand this post is all in good fun. I am grateful for your lovely country, and I’d really rather not be fined, arrested, or deported.

God Save the King!

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