Paper Money

When I'm 64 (from March 2011)

That is the age at which I will now receive a state pension.

Oh well. I think I shall have to become a bank robber.

Don't tell anyone I said that.

Joking aside - it was terribly unjust that women were entitled to a pension five years before men. What was that all about? And it's not as if 60 is even old these days. Or so I like to kid myself.

It's the kids I feel sorry for. There they'll be trying to get a foot on the career ladder starting with something humble and character-forming like working the aisles in B&Q or Tescos and there will be all the old codgers like me taking their jobs. And I will too - if the bank robbing thing doesn't work out.

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Nelly's Garden has sure turned out to be quite the aide-memoire pour moi. For, thinks I to myself - I should write about how great it is to finally be in receipt of the long-awaited state pension and I knew I'd written about it before and, there you go, seven years ago I was positively longing to be a pensioner. It turned out I didn't do anything quite as drastic as robbing a bank or getting a job. As if! There's rarely a morning that passes that I don't wake up and thank the universe that I don't have to go to work.

So it is that even the grandchildren, at least the ones that live in Ireland and are aware of the existence of money, knew that I was looking forward to my pension. For as we headed into the local Spar yesterday afternoon and I opened my purse to check how much money I had, Evie exclaimed,

Is that paper money Granny?

And Martha asked,

Is it your pension Granny?

I think she's been looking forward to my pension as much as I have.

I knew I'd have a little spending spree when it finally came and as it came with another little windfall there was definitely going to be some addressing of pent-up need on the wardrobe front. So I went shopping yesterday just before I picked up the girls, thrifting and regular, and got a lovely rust-coloured linen cardigan (for a pittance) and some ridiculously cheap biker boots in TK Maxx plus some navy trousers. Got home and discovered I'd got the wrong size trousers and the boots still had a security tag on them. The cardi was still delicious, no issues there.

So, it was back to the shops today. As I entered TK Maxx the security alarm shrilled which really confused the guy on the floor. But no bother, he removed the tag and I swapped the trousers for a very useful structured black jackety, cardigany thing. In the thrift shops, I bought a very nice summer skirt. Fits lovely but you'd know you're wearing it. I reminded myself that Loulou de la Falaise said that when it comes to clothes she didn't like to feel too comfortable and I think I might take that to heart except when I'm gardening. 

And I hope Martha will be pleased with the three quid Mini-Boden dress I found in Ballymena's latest charity shop. It's from several seasons ago but that means vintage and Martha likes a bit of vintage.

The personal motto for the rest of my life is - just because you're fat doesn't mean that you can't have Nice Things. 

Martha's dress and my pre-loved cardigan and a Brand New Book because no shopping spree is complete without one.

Looking Forward

In around four months time I will be, at last, in receipt of my State Pension. I'm rather looking forward to it. It's not a fortune but it will bring me a bit more financial independence. I won't be getting the full amount as there are some gaps in my National Insurance record. But not to worry, for if I buy credits amounting to around £1,800 I can increase my pension by £1.13 per week. which means that by the time I reach my 95th birthday I'll have broken even on the investment. Yay!!

Not going to do that.

While I was doing these calculations I also worked out how much I lost out on because the government raised the pension age. Almost all my life I expected to retire at 60. If everything had stayed as it was I'd have pocketed around £35,000 by now. But don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining as I'd probably have spent it foolishly anyway.

Money, Money, Money

It's not often that I find myself in agreement with the Pope. For I've always believed that money was an illusion. OK - it seems real enough when it's in your purse and because the other people believe in it too it's easy to go into town and swap that plastic or paper stuff for something tangible you can bring home and clutter up your house with.

When you've got that bit of extra money you really want to believe that it's real and that it's important. So you swap it for an ISA or a mortgage or stocks & shares. But then you find that's not really real at all. That it's only worth what everyone agrees it's worth at a moment in time. You find that expressions like 'safe as houses' and 'money in the bank' are nothing but a parcel of lies and keek.

I liked recessions and global financial meltdowns far better when I had fuck all.

Feeling The Cold

Bert thinks I'm feckless with money. This used to annoy me but now I just laugh at it. I told him today that if I am made redundant I'll use some of the money to pay off my credit cards. He said,

Aye. And then you should burn the both of them!

I can't do that. One of them is yours!

Well burn your own then.

I won't. I'll just be sensible with it.

You wouldn't know how to be sensible with it.

Course I would.

Bert sneaks about the house turning down the cental heating and turning off what he thinks are unnecessary radiators. I sneak around after him turning it back up again. Meanwhile Pearlie has her heating turned up as high as it will go and has a couple of electric heaters blasting away as well. When it gets so hot that her wee dog starts to pant she throws open the door of her moby to let a bit of air in. He laughs this off whilst telling me to put on more clothes. Picture me. I'm already happed up to Michelin Man proportions. I can hardly move my arms I've got so many woollies on. I'm actually wearing leg-warmers.

The room that Bert and Hannah sit reeking and smoking and watching telly/playing clarinet in is really warm but I can't sit there all night. How could I blog?

There is a downside to living in a bigger house. Roll on summer.