It is a sad fact but, during the last decade, my house has earned more than I have.  Year on year, it has consistently out-performed me.  Despite my having been engaged in continuous, uninterrupted employment during the period, my house has still racked up a larger wedge of dosh than me, simply by remaining upright.

Of course, a modicum of investment has been required to keep my house at peak earning capacity, but then so too has it required a bit of cash being thrown to the wind to maintain my own potential––that spot of repointing to the chimney balances quite neatly with the three-day training course at London Bridge.

Except, now, my house is in revolt.  Suddenly, this ever-reliable earner is turning into a bit of a slacker.  It is as though my house is on a grey gap year.  That regularly anticipated rise in house prices has slowed; almost gone in reverse.  It might be the Brexit effect; it might be a cyclical variation; or even a seasonal anomaly.  All I know is that from being the mother-provider my house has become the big, needy teenager, who expects bed and board without either thanks or remittance.

Now, I am the top earner in the household.

The responsibility weighs heavy.

© Simon Turner-Tree

Simon Turner-Tree finds worries where they do not exist.