I am almost ashamed to admit this, but since hitting the start of my forties, I have to say that I have actually become conscious about money. You know the thing I mean, the root of all evil?
Like most people, I never seem to have enough of the stuff, what with the cost of children and everything that goes with it – housing, clothing, food, education... Yes, I am well aware that relative to 99.9 per cent of the planet, I am amply blessed. But the really sad thing is that I inhabit a fantasy world in which I genuinely imagine that any day now I am going to become absolutely loaded. How? Well, because the book I am writing will be published, it will be well on the way to becoming a bestseller, and before you know it I’ll be quaffing champagne cocktails with Colin Firth who, naturally, will take the lead male role in the film version. Just think of all those the after film award parties I’ll be attending.
I spend all my time thinking things like, “I know I’m a bit of a state now, but it doesn’t matter, because when I’m rich I’ll be really groomed.” Not that I’m not groomed now, of course, but what I mean is really groomed. I have even gone to the trouble of mentally working out that, to save time, I’ll spend one day a month at a spa getting my eyebrows shaped, a manicure and a Brazilian bikini wax done simultaneously.
Then there’s my wardrobe, currently a sorry mix of high street, by which I mean French Connection (do I have a choice?) and designer – by which I mean Oxfam and vintage clothing shops.
But any time soon, I’m going to be upgrading it. I was thinking Nicole Farhi for casual, Armani for smart, and it goes without saying that all my shoes will be handmade by Jimmy Choo and Manolo (Louboutin is so yesterday).
Other purchases I’ve planned are my runaround car, my modest little London flat overlooking the Thames (Richmond or Canary Wharf? It’s so hard to decide) and lengthy foreign holidays in Tuscany and the Caribbean. Dream on Lulu...
Please tell me that there are other people out there who also feel that wealth on a massive scale must be just around the corner, and that their current lifestyle is some kind of mistake. I know that these days we’re all supposed to be concentrating on the beauty within – balancing our chakras the way our mothers used to move furniture around – but I don’t believe anyone who says they don’t care about cash. They’re either totally irresponsible, like me, and shortly to be visited by burly men who will cut up their credit cards, or they’re too cashed up for their own good –in which case they should spread it around a little. The worst thing, though – and I’m sure this is true for many women in my position – is that if I’m honest, I have been relatively opulent. In my twenties I earned enough to develop a plane habit so expensive that if I could get all the money back now, it would have been enough to pay for my kids to go to Eton.
Did I appreciate this at the time? No I did not. Because, naturally, I expected that one pay rise would lead to another – even though I was my own boss – and that, in short, I would carry on getting richer. Only it hasn’t quite worked out that way. I really didn’t realize how much it costs to be an adult. I mean, once you’re in your forties there’s really no excuse for not paying your road tax or your mobile phone bill, is there? Not to mention the dry cleaning, kids’ birthdays and staying in hotels with indoor toilets.
Nor did I anticipate that becoming slacker – I mean creating a better work/life balance, or whatever this “in” phrase is this week – would inevitably mean seeing my earnings plunge into freefall. I just can’t reconcile myself to the fact that if you want serious loot you usually have to work bloody hard for it. Because in my case, without sounding morbid, I’m not going to hang around waiting for an inheritance.
My father is a retired accountant who has taken to growing olive groves, and hopefully he has a good few years of fresh sea air ahead of him to be getting on with. I just wish he’d been a dodgier accountant and cooked more books. When I told him (in jest) I was going to semi retire and become a full-time writer, his immediate response was an expression of horror accompanied by the words, “I haven’t got any money, you know.”
He did relent a few minutes later, adding, “But I do have this olive grove and 3 dogs. You can probably have them if the going gets tough.” He wasn’t lying. These days he probably thinks I’m the one who’s loaded. As if! I know that money is like potato chips – no matter how big your stash, you always want more. Richard Branson is probably sitting around right now daydreaming... “When I’m as rich as Bill Gates, I’ll go everywhere by balloon.”
I should just admit to myself that I may never become as utterly wedged as I am in my fantasies. What I should really do is count my blessings (yawn) and be thankful, as my mother would say (yawn). I suppose there’s always that promise of my dad’s dogs. And they certainly are very nice dogs. I wonder how much I could get for them?
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