Sunday, 6 August 2017



“Money don't get everything it's true. What it don't get I can't use, now give me money - that’s what I want” - ‘Money (That’s What I Want)’ by The Beatles

Like a lot of twenty-somethings, I am currently army crawling my way to payday through broken glass and used paper cups that once contained lattes from chain coffee shops. Behind me is a trail of receipts from slogan tee’s bought on impulse and DVD’s I’ll watch once and only once. Sidebar: am I the only one who misses the ritual that was a trip to Blockbuster on a Friday night? There was no commitment to own a film you aren’t sure you’ll enjoy and no praying to the Netflix gods for them to add the niche film you’re in the mood to watch. And no, I don’t illegally download films because it’s morally wrong and I don’t know how. I digress. 

I think about money all the time currently. It consumes almost all of my thoughts. How will I save enough of it? Will I earn lots of it one day? I’m worried I’ve spent too much on shiny things I didn’t need! It’s tiring and I wish I didn’t care. Correction, I wish I had enough of it to not have to care. Up until my late teens, I had been of the assumption that the older I got, the more money I will automatically earn because as you grow in age, so does your wage, right? Obviously an incorrect and incredibly ignorant thought that stemmed from being raised without money woes. My fortunate childhood was due to my dad working his proverbial ass off all over the world 360 days of the year to ensure myself and my Sister were lucky enough to experience the carefree childhood he didn’t get. The knowledge of how hard my Dad worked was something I overlooked in my younger years, I was probably distracted by our pets or my BabyG watch, it’s hard to tell at this point. Money wasn’t something that I even had to think about as a child, holidays were frequent and being a ‘good girl’ all week and getting all of my chores completed usually resulted in a little gift like a new beanie baby. There were bonus points for if me and my sister didn’t physically fight one another but we almost always failed at that, we watched too much WWF wrestling and were easily influenced by The Hardy Boyz. It wasn’t until a few years after my parents split that money began to concern me and it became an even harsher reality when I was out in the big wide world earning my own. I was faced with the cruel fact that money does not last forever and hard work does not mean you automatically get you’re own money tree planted in your garden (I mean, I live in London and as if I can afford a garden but I thought it may come in the form of a money cactus from Ikea?).

I’ve always been quite good at saving for things I want, holidays I desire or just general ‘rainy days’ but I think this is more to do with how stubborn I am as opposed to me being frivolous. I am currently saving for 7 separate and expensive occasions that are all due to take place within the next 4 months, I’m not sure if it’s bad karma I acquired from all those years of leading on older creepy men on chat rooms to make my friends laugh but it’s resulted in me standing in a sassy hand-on-hip pose and saying the word ‘Typical!’ whenever a new event pops up in my diary (I have officially turned in to my mother) and it has made me more anxious about my earnings than ever. So much so, I have the following fantasy at least 6 times a day. I have set this fantasy out in the style of a script as I hope to sell it to FOX one day, those folks LOVE white people that whine. Here’s looking at you, Murdoch, you little monster.

My Money Fantasy
Entitled: ’The Genie & I’ (name TBC)
Written by Dame Faye A. Harris

Int: Faye stands alone in her dark and gloomy bedroom, she is surrounded by unpaid bills, notifications via post of her outstanding student loan and she is grasping on to a calendar with all of the expensive pending events circled in a dramatically large red pen. She shoots a look to the ceiling of her rented room and cries out ‘If only there was someone who could help me!!!’

Just as these whiney words fall off her poor person tongue, a puff of smoke appears as if from nowhere and an aladdin style rip-off genie is floating before her, his entire being stemming from that teapot Faye bought years ago and was convinced she’d use all the time so justified it by saying ‘it’s okay that it costs more than my monthly phone bill!’ but in reality, she doesn’t actually like tea that much and rarely drinks it, let alone in large quantities like from a giant china pot.

You rang? I’m just dicking around, I heard you crying and I-

-I wasn’t crying.

Apologies Miss, I think one of your roommates is crying. Anywho, you know the deal. You have 3 wishes, yada yada yada, what’ll it b-


*in a passive tone* Past recipients of my services have spent some time mulling it over and feigned interest in the idea of helping others first, usually saving their 3rd wish for material objects they desire. Fuck, man. Who raised you?

*whilst taking selfies with her phone* So will you be providing it in notes or straight to my bank? How does this work? OMG look at this new snapchat filter, look, I’m a panda with cult-leader glasses! ha! *notices the Genie riffling through her clothes* OI! Get out of my wardrobe you cretin!!

You have a lot of things in here with tags still on. Maybe if you spent a little less money on ‘weight goal’ clothing that doesn’t fit and burritos that are the main cause of that, maybe then you wouldn't be imagining up a scenario where a genie gives you cash.

Hey Casper the unhelpful ghost, I wish you’d go fuck yourself.

*long pause*

*in a shocked/disgusted whisper* Will I get my money after you finish? Why do genie’s even have genitals? I beg you to look away, this has backfired catastrophically.

*wipes mouth* You’ve got 2 wishes left, bitch. 

And scene. That escalated and I’m sorry but you get the jist, I have money on my mind (and Disney. Always Disney. And occasionally the Spice Girls.) But in all seriousness, I am of the belief that money actually CAN buy happiness for a lot of people. Like most others who aren’t lucky enough to have a 90-something rich and generous boy toy, I get such a rush from buying something I have longed for, treating a loved one to a gift ‘just because’, booking a holiday I have been dreaming of and checking my bank balance without a mini panic attach…a life where those things aren’t a rarity but the norm, what could be better? Happiness Shmappiness, pfft, that’s for dreamers and honey, I am NO dreamer. I know money isn’t going to solve all of my issues and I know it won’t ‘fix’ me as a person but on those sad days when life gets a little too much, the option of not having to work and spending my day walking along the thames whilst listening to Tom Jones albums on repeat would be a real relief, am I right ladies?

I’d like to end this blog post with a poem I wrote all about…well…money, obviously. It’d be weird if it were about anything else. Enjoy:

The thought of money makes me lose sleep
If I had enough, I’d buy a pool so deep
I’d fill it with coins like Scrooge McDuck
I’d spend all my days not giving a fuck.

No worries of bills and student loan debts
I’d be so rich and have too many pets
With all that cash, my woes would be silent
And my anxiety attacks would be less violent.

I wasn’t born in to wealth but I’m willing to earn it
Even if it means spending free time as a hermit
I like the idea of hard work for the pay
But I prefer the notion of sleeping all day.

Why can’t it be even where we all get a sum
After all, it’s just paper that makes us act dumb
It’s numbers on a screen ruling our lives
And whoever has more automatically thrives.

I want a life where my days are all mine
I’d spend my days writing line after line
It would be bliss to not answer to ‘the man’
And travel the world just because I can.

I dream of a world where money’s obsolete 
No banks, no charges, life would be sweet
Work wouldn’t matter and we’d all be free
And no more hopes of growing a ‘Money Tree’.

Love Faye x
*goes back to staring at bank balance and google searching ‘how to play the stocks’*

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