Should someone off work with Parkinson’s be allowed a television? Does a supermarket assistant deserve a hobby? YouGov put a range of expenses to the public to ask at what income level they believed each should be attainable. The results are eye-opening. The survey shows that 76% of Britons believe that everyone should be able to afford their utility bills, while 74% think they should have the means to eat a balanced diet – in effect, meaning that around a quarter of the public believe that people on out-of-work benefits shouldn’t be able to have electricity or a full complement of vitamins. Things get particularly interesting when respondents were asked about “non-essentials”. Only 60% think seasonal celebrations should be attainable for all, while 55% think everyone should be able to afford a television. Just 39% thought everyone – the wealthiest, average earners, those on the minimum wage, and benefits claimants – should be able to pursue a non-active hobby, with only 27% believing those on any income should have the chance to go out socialising. Such attitudes are grim, but hardly new. As British philosopher Bertrand Russell said in 1932: “The idea that the poor should have leisure has always been shocking to the rich.” And yet it feels as if minds have hardened in recent years. The cost of living crisis has seen disposable income inequality in Britain rise, with the poorest fifth of the population enduring the biggest fall as they’re forced to spend more to cover the basics. Meanwhile, ministers respond to growing hardship by telling the public to just work more hours. While the workforce has been told to slog harder, there’s not only less time to relax – there’s no more money to pay for it. The wage demands of low and middle earners have been dismissed as “fuelling inflation” (in fact, that’s down to the highest-earning 10% getting more in their pockets). Instead of taxing bloated profits to cool the economy at the top of society, the government’s strategy to bring down inflation has been to squeeze the spending ability of the average family. It’s no wonder we’re cutting back on treats such as holidays and eating out. Rather than a pushback, there has been a quiet acceptance of meagre recreation – not least for those on low incomes. A decade of anti-benefits rhetoric and squeezes on living standards has fostered the belief that people on social security and low wages deserve a life of penury and boredom. Think of the rightwing press vilifying benefits claimants with widescreen TVs or the politicians insisting families should give up cheese sandwiches if they can’t afford the weekly shop. At a time when benefits and wages in real terms are falling at their fastest rate in decades, the smallest signs of pleasure are taken as proof that those on low incomes are not really struggling. Been to McDonald’s lately? Then your wages must be fine. Have a smartphone for job searches? Then universal credit is clearly too high. This narrative puts the blame squarely on the individual for their lack of resources, as if the reason someone has no cash isn’t poverty wages, but their Netflix subscription. It creates a demand for ever more absurd conditions in order for critics to acknowledge hardship; until a mum with multiple sclerosis has to spend her evenings staring at a blank wall eating porridge to deserve disability benefits. It is the Victorian workhouse mentality repackaged for the iPhone era, in which the poor and sick are expected to endure a certain level of suffering as penance for their failings. In this context, the idea that people in minimum wage jobs should have to go without a TV is not an error of the economy – it is a punishment for the crime of not being productive enough. Or, as Matthew Parris recently put it in the Times, could people on out-of-work sickness benefits not just “soldier on” and keep working? The result is the promotion of a kind of two-tier existence, where joy, relaxation and fulfilment are seen as the preserve of wealthy people – and life for the lower orders is one of labour and survival. This is class prejudice, of course, but it is also about a general lowering of expectations across the board. In a country where it’s now normalised for a home, access to basic utilities and regular meals to be out of reach for many, it’s easy to become convinced that hobbies and entertainment are unreasonable requests. Before you know it, celebrating Christmas will be a privilege saved for those in the higher tax bands. In The Road to Wigan Pier, George Orwell wrote of the working class: “Would it not be better if they spent more money on wholesome things like oranges and … saved on fuel and ate their carrots raw? Yes, it would, but the point is no ordinary human being is ever going to do such a thing.” Ninety years on, the sentiment is as true now as it was then. And yet it points to another problem: there is a section of society who do not think people on benefits or low wages are “ordinary human beings” – that they have the same creativity, dreams and goals as everyone else. It is not simply that art, culture and entertainment are often seen as unimportant, but that they are seen as the domain of people with money. While wealthy people can have lives enriched with theatre, golf and fine foods, the poorest in society are expected to go without even the internet or a takeaway. It would be easy to say the left should have bigger priorities. When millions of people are struggling to afford food and gas, it can feel frivolous to argue for the right to hobbies or socialising. But all of this speaks to fundamental questions. What does it mean to have a good life? Is a modern economy working if large swathes of the population can’t afford occasional leisure? And what does it say about us if we don’t want that for each other? Whether a consultant, cleaner or cancer patient, every human being deserves to curl up with a film or have a night out dancing with friends. After all, life is not just about bread, but roses too. That this can in any way be seen as radical demonstrates not only how low Britain’s living standards have sunk, but the worst of our instincts that say some people deserve no better. Frances Ryan is a Guardian columnist