Afternoon:
14°c
Having spent the past month watching wildly expensive clothes parade down the catwalks of New York, Milan and Paris, I have been far more out of touch with the world's fiscal woes than I would normally be (don't laugh). But the gist of it all seems to be this. Apparently, some really, really rich people are slightly less rich than before. One of them has even had to swap his domestic staff for less expensive ones. It must be tough, not having your pants folded the way you like them.
Over in the Craik household, things are slightly less dramatic. We fold our own pants, clean our own sinks and cook our own food. Ours is not a tale of billions lost on the stock market, nor is it one of harrowing poverty. Like millions of other Londoners, we're just muddling along in the middle. Our financial woes aren't the stuff of screaming headlines, and if we shared them with a pensioner living in Eastbourne, or a single mother living in Bathgate, they would probably punch us in the face. Downgrading the Chablis to Chardonnay is hardly a tragedy (not that we drink either. We drink beer).
Like most couples, my husband and I each think that we are far more economical than the other. The truth is, we are both pretty sorry advertisements for the New Austerity.
Sometimes, just for my own amusement (in a credit crunch, you have to get your kicks where you can), I do a silent evaluation, while stirring the gruel of an evening, of all our fiscal faux pas.
Admittedly, when it comes to using up all the old food in the fridge, Shed Boy is peerless (yesterday, he cooked and ate a bag of spinach so malodorous that Macbeth's witches would have rejected it for their brew). But give him a light to leave on and he is a happy man.
He also has a fondness for machine-washing single items, an electrical extravagance only matched by my fondness for tumble-drying them. Other areas in which I also fall short: drinking bottled water, shopping on Ocado, using Stella McCartney skincare, having Addison Lee on speed dial and buying an inordinate amount of tights for my daughter for reasons that could probably only be unravelled by a psychologist.
Though it shames me to admit it, our prevailing attitude to money is not one of probity, not even profligacy, but pig ignorance. We don't know the interest rate on our mortgage. We've yet to sit down and work out if what's going out is more than what's going in. This is not because we are stupid but because we are afraid.
Well, stupid and afraid. I'm afraid of the truth, because I can do nothing to change it. I think a lot of people feel the same. When it comes to money, I don't know what I'm doing. But Dick Fuld and all his ilk ... they were supposed to know. And if the experts can f*** it up, there really isn't much hope for the rest of us.
Reader views (2)
I assume that Laura and her husband contribute to a pension scheme? Sooner or later they'll notice that it's worth much less than it was this time last year.
- John, Bedford
Would Ms Craik inform her readers the combined income that she and her husband appear to care so little about?? I think if it approached the average income for Londeners she would be more concerned.
- Peter, London, UK
