“Money can’t buy me love” sang Paul McCartney on his way to amassing his £825 Million fortune. This would appear to be true after his very public separation with Heather Mills, which I guess also, proves that money cannot buy happiness. Or health for that matter, as Paul knows only too well as he lost his first wife Linda after she sadly lost her fight against breast cancer.
So whilst I am sure we are in agreement with the above, why are the majority of us so interested in money; or filthy lucre, dosh, readies?
I can honestly say that being broke have been some of the unhappiest times of my life. Only those that have been there know the dread of stepping up to a cash-point machine and typing in their PIN number with crossed fingers (very tricky) hoping that the machine will whir into life, issuing crisp notes, as opposed to displaying the words “Insufficient Funds”. All of this viewed by a long queue of people not fooled for one minute as you turn nonchalantly away. With a look on your face you desperately hope says “I was just checking my balance”.
Being rich, no matter what we say, makes us view people differently – enviously. As we sit at the traffic lights next to the well-groomed middle-aged man in his Aston Martin Vantage; gorgeous wife in the passenger seat, we think “yes, but is he happy?” as we deliberately stare the other direction at a very interesting brick wall.
In all honesty we should not be jealous. This man (or woman) could have worked all the hours god sent and be totally stressed out to have achieved there financial position. Or indeed risked all of their worldly possessions to start a successful business.
So, we’re agreed then. We are not jealous of people who have earned their money. Yep, thoroughly deserved, but why couldn’t it have been me!?
This question is more appropriate to Lottery winners. People that can only just about manage to get the crosses in the boxes next to their randomly selected numbers yet have struck lucky. I tried for years to win big money. I analysed number patterns, and the frequency of numbers drawn previously – nada (except for the odd tenner that keeps you believing “It could be me”)
Lottery winners tend to fall into two categories; Category 1: “Winning £10 Million is not going to change my life, and I fully intend to keep working at the abattoir mopping the floor” What? Are you stupid? Go and buy a Ferrari or a helicopter. Or even better, give it to me!
Category 2: the working class yob, such as Michael Carroll, self proclaimed King of the Chavs and proud owner of an ASBO (Anti-Social Behavioural Order) who knows the inside of a prison cell intimately. If I won the lottery I would have a great time and throw a huge party (to which you are all invited by the way)
Maybe the wealthiest people that are most anger-inducing are celebrities. I use this word in its loosest form. I am sure we are all very pleased that people like Jade Goody has made millions since her appearance on the “reality” show Big Brother (I am not sure whose reality involves living in a house with a bunch of slightly deranged strangers for several months, but there you go). Also I take great comfort in that after England’s dismal World Cup performance, David Beckham can go home and count his £87 Million fortune. Ah indeed, who can begrudge Graham Norton his £24 Million, or Chris de Burgh his £31 Million? Not I.
According The Times on-line (where all of these figures came from) Britain’s 3rd wealthiest Asian, with a bank balance of £1,704 Million, is a man called Anurag
Dikshit – pronounced “Dix-it” (Oh of course it is Mrs Bu-cket). But is he happy?
