Thursday, 19 July 2012

The Joy of Money

Currently, money is the bane of my life. Like most happy-go-lucky 20-somethings that yearn to live the full yuppie lifestyle, luxuriating in all of the wonders that such a cosmopolitan city like London has to offer, I'm realising that generating the bank balance to match all of those decadent dining experiences and sipping the freshly-made cocktails, is an abuse on my bank balance and one that, realistically, I can't afford.
Put simply, I'm shitting out money faster than I earn it, but am refusing to admit that Aldi would be a better shopping option for me right now rather than the Sainsbury's down the road. (Don't worry, I'm not so disillusioned to think I could ever afford to shop at Waitrose dharling.)

Admittedly June and July have been the most expensive months of my life since records began. I say records, because I do actually have to keep track of everything I spend and earn now (but mostly spend), otherwise my accountant finds it very difficult to help me dodge any unnecessary tax...which is all legal tax dodging I should note, just in case David Cameron reads this and tries to “out” me, I better clarify that I do pay all the tax I should, so there!

I say all tax; that is apart from the bill I got through the other day, which is still outstanding. I won't say how much I owe for someone else's blunder as they miscalculated my tax whilst in previous employment, but lets just say it's not come at a great time. Getting hit with a tax bill when you're self-employed and earning tuppence to start with and not being the sensible money type to 'put a bit away' to cover you when you're tax bill comes through, makes an already tight month, even tighter... and is quite stupid of me.

Having said that I don't do myself any favours, as I was more than happy the other day to continue living it up and joyously waxed a tenner in the arcade at Brighton Pier on a spiffing day out. Spending money on such frivolities seems simply wondrous at the time; ah the nostalgia of the 2p slot machines, the eagerness to bash the mice on the head with the mallet to win a meagre seven tickets that you can exchange for nought and in the back of your mind you know you could have spent that £1 play on buying a plastic yo-yo from the corner shop. Honestly, though, the satisfaction would not have been the same.

It's true that the love/hate relationship with money drives me mental and I even know what I should be spending my money on, I just can't bring myself to do it. Having so little of it means that when I do get a bit, spending it in the pub or trips out seems much more fun. Is this how alcoholic bums become alcoholic bums? Possibly being flat broke and only having enough money for one can of Special Brew is easier living than having just enough for drinks money, but not quite enough that you can really have a good time because you know there are bills to be paid and groceries to be bought?

I blame the ideology of “being sensible” for ruining the joy of money.

On that note though, I'm in no way saying being an alcoholic bum is a nicer way to live, possibly just easier, simpler. As George Orwell admitted when he gave up his humble livings to write Down and Out in Paris and London, “Within certain limits, it is actually true that the less money you have, the less you worry.” He has a point, because you can't worry about it.

Either that, or my other reasoning is being so filthy rich that money isn't a problem. Bring on the millionaire suitors Jeeves...!

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thanks for reading and taking the time to respond and share your thoughts on my writing.

Your comment will be posted shortly.

Cheers, RoseC