Ben Yates Online

The Column #13

Release Date:
7th August 2004

Synopsis: The inequalities which burden my existence.

I Have a Dream

How many times have you been told that money does not buy happiness? I have begun to question this preaching of late, wondering whether it is merely a phrase started by some smug upper class landowner who belongs in a Jane Austen novel. I suspect it was a tactic started by rich men to justify paying their employees a pittance whilst they stuff another fistful of dollars into the mouth of their trophy wife to silence her regal squawking. I believe money can bring happiness, especially if your ideal lifestyle involves plenty of it. Nobody wants to go through life worrying if they will earn enough money to keep them in drink each month, stretching an anorexic budget to allow them to keep up appearances in the social circle in which they reside.

I have a dream. It is not a dream like the one in Martin Luther King's famous speech, I truly can't be bothered to change the world, and it is not an experience that involves sleeping either. My dream is a place that exists in my head, quite safe from intruders, where I am able to live as I choose, free from the Blair government's meddling and away from the repetitive world of work and overpriced Saturday night drinking at the pub. For the sake of childish indulgence, I will describe this dream in brief detail, as I feel it demonstrates how money could bring me happiness.

My house is surrounded by a huge wall, a structure so tall that not even the gypsies can overcome it with their stolen ladders. The gardens are so big that in order to walk from one end to the other, one must take a tent to sleep overnight half way, and the grounds are taken care of by a polite conversant gardener who is as old as the trees which surround the lake. Life is carefree, afternoons are spent reading books and swimming in the lake undisturbed, and each evening the cook prepares a delicious spread of food which is eaten in the grand dining room, possibly while watching The Simpsons. Occasionally guests will be present.

A typical day involves getting up at around nine-ish. I awake to find myself drowning in a sea of fluffed pillows while Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake drifts gently across the room, the cool morning air twisting the curtain as it billows in through the balcony door, left slightly ajar by a loyal considerate butler. I leap from the bed into my oversized shower, freshen up and don the ruby slippers before dashing downstairs to devour a hearty fried breakfast. Later I wander through the west wing in search of the gym facility; Morrissey can be heard singing Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now from the many speakers which adorn the crisp white walls. Incidentally the gym is not occupied by people who are trying to appease their conscience by standing on a treadmill, convincing themselves that paying to use a facility constitutes real exercise, it is a place where I can burn off some energy without talking about who recently beat Tim Henman in some second rate tennis tournament.

Lunch is taken on the sun terrace, where I pass the midday hour with candid ease, and then it is over to the gun turret to spend some time shooting at taxis as they drive along the surrounding roads. Revenge leaves a sweet aftertaste and an appetite which is easily quenched by a glass of Stella Artois and some freshly baked scones. The evening is spent working on my book (a cynical dissection of society entitled Mein Kampf 2) while sipping fine brandy in the library; the room illuminated by the sinking sun in the summer months, and by flickering candles and a roaring open fire in winter. And then it is back to bed where I sleep peacefully, ready to do it all again on the morrow.

All of this would be possible if I had enough money, and although it may not bring resolute happiness, it would certainly be a most welcome improvement to life. I compare this to my current existence and then I truly believe that money can bring happiness. Everyone has a dream, and it is our dream that we work towards, our motivation to keep going and the reason we bother to get out of bed and work in a country that pays people to stay in bed all day in the name of welfare.

I suppose I am merely guilty of wanting what I don't have. Perhaps if my dream came true I would then have a new dream? One in which I live with my parents due to the exorbitant prices in an inflated housing market, where I earn enough money to keep my head above the stench of the welfare state and enjoy the occasional beer, and am surrounded by people who think Reebok is a designer label. I am prepared to take that chance though, as I am quite sure I would not look back.