Obsessing about money

A man I know today said:

‘Do you know? I donate £12 a month to the deaf children. I know I should stop it. It was just that these nice-looking women knocked on the door. I keep thinking I have to cancel that direct debit. ’

‘But why do you want to do that?’ I asked.

‘Because maybe I should at least spread it out a bit. You know, share it between other good causes.’

‘I’ve heard it all now,’ I thought. ‘£12! And he thinks he could spread it out? ’

‘I don’t know why I’m giving it,’ he continued. ‘It’s not like I’ve got a thing about deaf children.’

‘Uh, Carl,’ I said. ‘Don’t you think it’s a good thing to give to charity?’                                                           

‘Not really,’ he replied. ‘The Government should pay for these things. Why should I have to shell out? They get enough off me in taxes. And you never know where it really goes, anyway; if it actually gets to the people.’

I kept thinking about what he’d said, afterwards, because I was surprised at his attitude. Of course, one is not supposed to mention what one gives to charity in polite society, but as Carl mentioned it, and indicated his scepticism about the whole thing, it got me thinking. Why should it be taboo and what effect does it have, keeping it a taboo subject?  In any case I like to break taboos. So I checked the bank account and this is what we gave last month:

£144.24, made up of regular contributions to: World Vision, Water Aid, Action Aid, NSPCC, Cancer Research, the RSPCA and the Air Ambulance (in order from most to least).

Also, £100 to the Red Cross as a one-off response to the Syrian refugee crisis. And I also remember throwing a fiver into an anti-bullying bucket at Morrisons; so a total of about £250.

I then told Adrian about my conversation with Carl.

‘It’s Only Child Syndrome [Adrian often talks about this medically recognised condition]. And because he’s got no children either, he’s used to just thinking about himself. And in fact, his business is doing very well and he’s just inherited a large sum of money.’

Thinking more about Carl’s words, I wasn’t sure if he felt that he was a fool to be giving money away; like he was a mug. Or maybe his subconscious intention had been to boast to me and he was secretly proud of his large monthly donation? Who knows?

What is true is that very few people talk openly about this topic (it’s a bit like not telling people how much you earn).

So, I was wondering: why is it so taboo to say what you do or don’t give to charity?

Answers that spring to mind:

1.  YOU GIVE NOTHING OR VERY LITTLE AND YOU DON’T WANT OTHERS TO KNOW HOW TIGHT YOU ARE.
2.  YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW WHAT OTHERS GIVE AS THAT MIGHT MAKE YOU FEEL GUILTY.
3. YOU’RE NATURALLY MODEST AND DO LOTS OF GOOD DEEDS BUT DON’T LIKE TO TALK ABOUT IT.

Whatever the reason, a social taboo develops and we are led to believe that anyone who is open about it, is boasting in a most uncouth way. This then lets all the tight-arses off the hook.

We have friends, for example, where both partners earn a tidy amount and I’d swear to God they give hardly anything to charity. I can tell, because when I mention now and then how I like to, they fall silent. A natural response would be: ‘Oh, yes, the charity I support is…’

One Christmas I gave some family members and friends the ‘Oxfam’ and ‘World Vision’ gifts (in addition to their usual presents of smellies etc.) – they received cards saying someone in the developing world had received a goat, some chickens, seeds etc. One friend who was given one of these cards, saying that a family had been given a half-acre of land to cultivate, said rather belligerently: ‘And do I get to see the field and go on it?’ This was a wealthy person in a highly-paid job and she couldn’t hide her fury. My mother and sister, on the other hand, were very pleased to receive a small present and the knowledge that someone far less fortunate had benefited from me not wasting money on things they didn’t need. That one friend’s attitude, however, really put me off doing the same thing again. What a shame.

Some would think that my careful control of the weekly budget (described in an earlier post) means I’m tight and that their spending all their money every month on themselves is generosity. Not quite.

So to conclude my latest food for thought:

Although I give this regular amount of money to charity, I know I don’t give enough. I feel I have to keep a lot back for a rainy day – being a landlord with a lot of mortgages, I want to be prepared for a sharp increase in mortgage rates (we’ve nearly been in trouble before), but deep down I know I should give more away. People’s lives could be saved with my money. I won’t be squeezing my way through the eye of that needle. I’ll rot in hell probably, for all my good deeds. But I won’t be on my own. I may not give away enough of my money; but what fate awaits those who give zero away, despite their handsome salaries?

NB. Before everyone has a go at me, I am referring to people who can afford it. I’m not going to be like the Labour activist who came around my Dad’s house one Sunday evening during the Miners’ Strike and asked him for a donation. ‘Sorry, I haven’t got any money,’ he replied. ‘Well, a few tins of food would be good,’ she continued. ‘Sorry, I haven’t got anything apart from one tin of soup and I need that tonight,’ he mumbled, embarrassed. ‘Humph,’ she said, ‘thanks for that,’ and she sauntered off, leaving him feel ashamed and humiliated, for not helping people who HAD MORE MONEY THAN HIM, STRIKE OR NO STRIKE.

But for those who have plenty, how about at least giving some of it away to others less fortunate now and again?

I’ve always been fascinated by different people’s attitudes towards money and often find myself questioning my own approach to the filthy lucre.  Some might say I’m too fixated with trying to save every penny; a charge I can’t deny. I consider it an extravagance to spend more than a penny on a teabag for instance (I could do better and get 80 teabags for 27p at the supermarket, but Adrian won’t let me so I have to shell out a pound on a packet of 100 Typhoo teabags). More than a pound on 6 free-range eggs won’t be countenanced and neither will over a pound for a four-pinter of milk. I’ll spend ten minutes queuing in Poundland to not go over-budget on any of these.

This tight controlling of the purse-strings is a habit borne of past necessity, having been poor as a child and young adult, but now that I don’t have to be careful, why do I keep it up? Adrian says:

‘Go on! Treat yourself! You know you can spend whatever you like.’

And sometimes I think I should buy that £100 (and the rest) dress or £70 jumper from John Lewis.  But all I can think is:

‘There’s no way in my whole life I’ll spend that!’ (I will splash out on the coffee and scones there though).

If people could see into my head (pity them) they’d think:

‘God. Stop obsessing about every penny. Get a life. Chill out.’

This up-tight attitude towards money has a knock-on effect in other areas of my life, meaning for example that I have difficulty in ‘having fun.’ I’m just not the type. Even as a child I didn’t play games, except for the solitary type; two balls against the wall at the side of the house.  I even remember at maybe four years of age having a few dolls and teddies and having no idea what I was supposed to do with them. And now as an adult I am an observer in life. I hold the bags and mobiles while everyone else gets on the boat on the lake, I take the kids to the cinema and later pick them up, without seeing a film myself. It’s an archetypal female passivity.

And while I’m watching, not doing, I wonder: ‘What are other women my age doing with their lives?’ Are they out having girly nights in wine bars (or did they disappear in the ‘80s which was around the last time I regularly went out after 7pm)? Or are they all off at some Zumba class having a real laugh? Or at spa breaks in swanky hotels? Or, with regard to my more earthy former friends, down the club getting pissed and getting a sh*g? Is life passing me by? If I ventured out after dark would I experience life more fully? Shouldn’t I be squeezing every ounce out of it?

When we have a business success or an unexpected wind-fall, do we crack open the champagne? No we don’t. Because we have no idea how to celebrate. What is celebrating? What are parties? What are holidays? They’re social constructs and I can’t put on an act and pretend they make me happy.

‘Let’s go to Wetherspoons!’ Adrian will declare or, ‘Let’s have fish and chips for tea!’ That’s about the level we take it to. And I’ll even warm up a tin of mushy peas (14p from the supermarket), rather than pay the 90p or so for a carton of it from the chippy. I think I belong to a different era. I’d re-use the teabags if Adrian allowed me to.

Of course, when we have to fit in with ‘normal’ society and for instance go out to a restaurant with friends, we can’t avoid excessive expenditure. It’s enough to bring on a panic attack. Sorry, but I don’t derive pleasure out of spending £80 for two little plates of food and two bigger plates of food and one or two drinks (our friends don’t bat an eyelid at a bill of £160 for four people).

One middle class friend, with a different attitude to mine, once asserted her aim to spend all of her and her husband’s not-inconsiderable income by the end of every month.

‘It makes sense to spend everything,’ she said. ‘Because when we retire, although we’ll be on less money with our pensions, we’ll have no mortgage so our outgoings will be down and we’ll be able to live just as well as we do now.’ It seems like most people spend every penny every month, even if they’re earning a fortune.

I JUST CAN’T DO IT.

(And I also can’t see the virtue or sense in it.)

So I didn’t have the big wedding (would have hated it), have never been on a cruise (the holiday-choice for lazy gluttons) and haven’t done the posh railway journey or gastronomic tour of Italy even though Adrian often hankers after these (‘You know you couldn’t actually bring yourself to spend that money,’ I say). Instead, the money stays in the bank, I take time most days to go into different shops to get the best deals, and many of my clothes are from charity shops. I think I know why. It’s:

BECAUSE SPENDING MONEY DOES NOT MAKE ME HAPPY!

 Does it have that effect on everyone else?