MANY folk rage at the power of corporations and their ever-increasing power over our lives.

I’m one of them.

But it doesn’t stop us being part of a corporation for almost the whole of our time here on earth.

I’m part of that, too.

Our problem is that we don’t know who or what we are.

Oh, but that’s silly – you’re John Martyn Brindley, of course you know who you are.

But, no, I’m not. Not the real me anyway.

I’m a human being, a living soul, born on this planet, according to the most reliable records, on October 20 1961. I have no reason to doubt this although my memory is a little hazy.

I was given a ‘name’, a character part if you like, by my human parents. I don’t remember that either, to be honest.

They then went to the local Register Office to record my ‘birth’.

Behold I have a ‘birth certificate’.

And a completely new identity. For the name on that certificate is not me but a legal fiction. Albeit a very important one.

That ‘legal fiction’ plays a pivotal role in my life – and, presuming you have a birth certificate, a pivotal role in your life too.

The only problem is it has taken me 55 years and counting to find out what happened on that day. And I still have only a layman’s knowledge of it.

You see, there are two kinds of law in this country.

Common law as laid down by the famous Magna Carta in 1215 gives us fantastic freedoms as human beings, or souls. In a nutshell, we can travel where we like and do what we wish if we don’t harm a fellow human being or cause them loss. No mention of the thousands of other laws that we live by today.

That’s because those ‘laws’ are a completely different kettle of fish.  They are Acts and Statutes created by the state.

As these laws, constantly infringe on my natural human rights as a soul, you’d think I’d have a choice in the matter.

Again, it’s taken me 55 years-plus to realise that ‘yes, I do’ because nobody on this planet – or very few – want to tell me about them.

Instead I have conformed as a good slave to my legal fiction.

I, John Martyn Brindley, the legal fiction not the human soul, am an employee of UK Plc.

Oh dear, another thing nobody ever told me. When given a birth certificate, I became an employee of a corporation! No matter whether I hate the very thought of most corporations now, I’m signed up. Parole only available upon death.

So what does this mean?

You and I, as assets of a corporation, are assigned an economic value. I have no idea what mine is, but apparently it’s not too difficult to find out.

It’s safe to say, however, that it’s a great deal more than I’m likely to take from the state.

These legal guys are very good with their money. Don’t worry about that.

So, when they have paid me money during brief periods of unemployment, for example, they are giving me back what I am owed – just very little of it.

But also the fact that this ‘legal fiction’ John Martyn Brindley is owned by the state means I don’t own many of the things I think I do.

For example, I don’t own my car. Yes, I paid for it in full and it is currently parked outside my house. But I am only the ‘registered keeper’ of that vehicle, its true owner is the DVLC. Otherwise this bureaucratic authority wouldn’t have the right to tow it away, or even dispose of it altogether, if they see fit.

We all know presumably that banks and building societies etc are the legal owners of most of our homes. They lend you money – fictitious money, of course, as 90 per cent of it comes from thin air – to give you the impression you own your property. They then charge you a decent interest rate to pay back the ‘money’ they created in the first place and retain the right to take control of that property should you fail to do so.

In theory, I own my house. But what does that mean? I can’t take it with me if I want to move. All I can do is trust that someone else out there thinks it is worth something and is prepared to buy it off me.

It’s even worse with our children. I wouldn’t want to ‘own’ anybody anyway but legally I gave up all rights to my daughter when I registered her birth. Through the legal implications of the birth certificate, social services (another corporation by the way) have full rights to take our children should they decide to do so. Naturally there are rights to appeal, but the odds are stacked against you.

You may think all this is nonsense. That’s your right. I certainly sympathise if you think it sounds rather complicated and admit I’m only just beginning to get to grips with it.

But here lies the key to a question that gnaws away in many a human heart in this country: why do I feel like a slave?

You are born into this world, taken into schools to fill up most of your free time during your youth, then go into the world of work.

Some do brilliantly, or think that they do. But most scratch out a living – just enough to pay the bills and a bit left over to have a drink and forget about the week.

We are forever setting our sights to the future when magically everything will turn out alright.

It may be a holiday, a major event, even retirement. But the truth is you never ever reach the destination you are aiming for – that’s if you have a clear destination in the first place.

And the reason is we have given up our human rights – or many of them.

We have become slaves of the state, a system not there to protect the many but to serve the few (and that’s not a party political statement).

There is a way out but that’s for another day.

In the meantime, enjoy your servitude – and, yes, God save The Queen!