Tag Archives: rich

Mister Moneybags

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(I wrote this yesterday and, for reasons I can’t go into now, didn’t get round to posting it. Let’s just say yesterday was a tough day).

Hey Mister Moneybags, look at you! In your high rise office with your high flying job. Is that suit from Savile Row by any chance? I knew it! And those shoes, genuine Italian leather from last weekend’s jaunt to Milan? How’s the wife? The kids?The mistress? What’s that-two mistresses?! Gosh, you really do know how to live the high life! Has your golf handicap improved? Surely those expensive clubs have paid off by now? Not to mention that public school education. By golly your parents must be proud.

You know what Mister Moneybags? You really have made it, whatever ‘it’ is. You are the definition of success. Everything you ever wanted is yours. You’ve got properties and cars by the dozen, private jets and yachts the likes of which most of us can only dream of. Your family must adore the lifestyle you’ve created for them.

What’s that Mrs Moneybags? You’d rather have a husband than the lifestyle? And not have to share him with dozens of floozies at that? You’re sick of making excuses to the kids about why daddy’s let them down again? And actually if truth be told you’re starting to re-think the marriage altogether?

Oh dear Mister Moneybags, maybe you can’t have it all, after all…

Papayas, middle class problems and Biffa

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Earlier today on Facebook my friends and I had an amusing conversation about middle class problems. It started with one friend-who shall remain nameless-complaining there were “so many bloody pop up things [meaning restaurants] at the mo, I can’t keep up!!” Another friend then volunteered her dilemma (I suspect somewhat sarcastically): “If I put the spice rack there, then there’s no room for the tea caddy. What to do?” And finally a third friend added his: “There aren’t enough plugs for my coffee grinder, kettle and espresso machine. So I have to grind my beans then plug the kettle back in afterwards.”

These comments, along with my favourite middle class line from the Waitrose Twitter debacle some months ago, “Put the papaya down, Orlando!” (if you didn’t see it look it up-too funny), are obviously tongue in cheek, but nonetheless they highlight the huge disparity between the ‘haves’ and ‘have nots’ in our society.

Several people who would fall firmly into the “have not” category were featured in last night’s episode of Undercover Boss, which really touched a nerve with me. The programme focused on employees of Biffa, the waste disposal organisation, and two men in particular had such sad stories. One had spent five years working ten hour shifts, six days a week sorting rubbish on a conveyor belt in a disgusting, airless factory. When the belt broke down, as it often did, he and his fellow agency workers would not get paid until it was fixed – which sometimes took up to three days.

A second Biffa employee in the programme had been denied time off to grieve over the death of his baby girl, and a third had been made redundant and forced to take another, less well paid job with the company which had led to him losing his house and becoming depressed.

Watching the struggles these men went through every day to survive and put food on the table for their families was a humbling experience, and one that, upon reflection in the wake of today’s “middle class problems” conversation, made me put my own “problems” very much into perspective. I may have recently taken a pay cut myself but I did so voluntarily to make room for my writing, and whilst I have had to cut back on frivolous things like daily Starbucks coffees and new clothes I’m certainly not suffering-far from it, I’m thriving on my new routine.

So whilst Orlando and his papaya will forever make me chuckle, the stories of those Biffa employees will stay with me in a different and more sobering way-and will act as a reminder to be grateful for my many blessings.

A classy business

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A photo article on ‘things posh people like’ is currently doing the rounds on the social media networks. It cites such accoutrements as ‘upturned collars,’ ‘expensive pets’ and ‘blazers,’ and pokes fun at ‘insanely long surnames’ and the tendency of the rich to ‘make lists of other posh people, most of whom you’ve never heard of.’ In short, it’s funny. Or at least it is to people like me, who regard themselves as middle class and consider this self-classification a prerequisite for being permitted to relentlessly mock the upper classes, with whom we obviously share no common ground.

For most people, identifying with a social class provides a meaningful form of identity. The ‘upper classes’ are easier to mock because they’re perceived as ‘having it all’ – something the lower and middle classes doubtless envy (even if they’re quite certain they wouldn’t behave in the same way should they themselves come into a substantial sum of money).

The stereotypical posh kids who are depicted on programmes like Made in Chelsea do little to make being ‘upper class’ look classy, parading around in sports cars and having friends over for champagne tea served by the maid before indulging in a spot of croquet and a polo tournament. They portray a life of undeserved over-privilege, which is both offensive and alienating to Joe Bloggs on the street, who’s struggling to put food on the table at the end of each long day.

But whilst ‘posh’ is easy to mock, isn’t it a kind of inverse snobbery that operates when the ‘lower classes’ club together to mock the way the upper classes look and act? Perhaps, but it’s human nature to seek out those most similar to ourselves and form a bond as a way of reaffirming our place in society. There’s strength in numbers, as the saying goes.

But whether we’re rich or poor, posh or common as muck, we mustn’t forget that we are all human beings – our outward circumstances may be different but inside we’re all the same, with the same insecurities and fears. So what if some of us like wearing tweed and others double denim? The chances are deep down we’ve got more in common than we realise – or perhaps that we’re prepared to accept.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to meet a man about a peafowl….

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