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.