I am pretty happy with my lot and don’t yearn for huge wealth. I have more than enough for my needs, being of a frugal disposition, and can support the various charities and causes I believe in without being a martyr. I’m a long way from the gutter or even the widow’s mite.
I’d love enough money not to have to work, as opposed to not towork, but the lifestyles of Paris Hilton and her like look thoroughly uninteresting from this scruffy sofa.
However, from time to time, and especially when I look in estate agents’ windows, I wish I had semi-serious money. I was going to say I wish I were rich, but the houses I was lusting after this afternoon are in parts of town the really rich have probably never even heard of.
Yet earlier in my walk, which was brisk and did not involve many photos as I wanted to keep my thermal-gloved hands up my sleeves, I walked through a housing estate that I found thoroughly depressing. I think it was the air of unlovedness that got to me. That and the abundance of bins.
I walked there as I wanted to look at the Henry Moore sculpture. It is an incongruous setting and certainly under appreciated. Usually it is covered in graffiti. I have been thinking about t quite a bit since the theft of the Barbara Hepworth from another local setting, Dulwich Park. At least that was behind locked gates. As I approached, all I could see was this:
I am guessing the Moore is underneath. Maybe this is the council’s way of protecting it. But somehow, if the thieves who took the Hepworth, almost certainly for its scrap metal value, want this one too, that corrugated iron isn’t going to stop them.
It made me start to muse on how so many treasures are locked up so no one ever sees or enjoys them. Then thinking of how when pieces like this are left for everyone to enjoy they are routinely vandalised, I began to wonder how we deserve the environments in which we live.
So maybe I just don’t merit any of those houses I saw in the estate agents’.