Jolt

So what do you do, as was the case yesterday, when the bank that has been looking after your modest rainy day savings suddenly freezes the account - this is the money you have put by in case the roof blows off or the boiler dies one cold day in December or even both at once - and reports indicate that your cash, your security, your thin financial cushion, has disappeared down a large black hole somewhere in Reykjavik and may not be seen again?

The first reaction was victim guilt. I had obviously done something wrong, had lusted after the relatively high interest rates dangled in front of me and had committed an unforgiveable error of judgement.

Then anger. Then clodding fear.

Evening. I phoned my sister, who reminded me that I have a roof over my head and food in the cupboard. She also made me laugh.

Today I picked up the camera and deliberately decided for the sake of sanity to pay attention to the moment as I walked to work. Any serenity I could hope to find during the coming twenty-four hours would be as a result of living second by second.

On a morning like this, surprisingly easy.







At work I made coffee for my colleagues and sat down at the desk. The phone rang. The boss calling from home. She had just heard on the radio that The Chancellor of the Exchequer is going to look after me and my 300,000 or so compatriots in the same boat. All this on the same day that my fellow taxpayers and I apparently took ownership of every bank in the country. Crazy.

Yes. I am relieved. Very. Aware of my personal good fortune and embarrassed to be in this situation. Goodness knows what is happening to our world, economically and politically, right now but hopefully it might be at least a partial cleaning out of some pretty filthy Augean stables and not simply total madness.

Me, I am a bit more awake than I was last Monday.

Hard Cash

I worry about tomorrow's money. What's not to worry about?

Will my (very small) pension be enough? How will I manage on my own with the utility bills rising all the time? I lie in bed at night when I get these attacks, reproach myself for all the wrong financial and life choices I have ever made and imagine how I will live as a bag lady.

Self pity and insecurity don't make for a happy mix, and it's pretty obvious if I read the paper or watch the news that there are so many in a similar or worse situation. As the world population goes, believe me, I'm in the fortunate half. Even in the UK I'm not doing too badly. No debt. No dependents. None of this makes me feel any better.

So I’ll have to work as long as I can. OK. Fine. Find something that is worthwhile and makes my heart sing, or at least doesn't make it sink, and I'd definitely choose to be occupied and happy.

I have a good and exceedingly well-heeled friend who owns a couple of rental properties, who has a portfolio of stocks and shares, who is a Buddhist and who also worries about becoming a bag lady. In my more jaundiced moments I roll my eyes. This is unfair to her. I love and trust this woman and believe that when she tells me what she is feeling she is telling me her truth. Her fear is very tangible.

Her teacher tells her that she is powerless over outside events. That her best defence against financial, or any other, uncertainty is to live simply, kindly, in each moment, to make each second a mindful and one-pointed one, and to meditate. That’s it, aside from normal prudent budgeting.

Beyond logic. Yet at a deep level I know this is the answer. What is important is to accept that I see through a glass darkly and what I have to do is to finish this post then go downstairs and start the washing machine. Make a phone call. Take the cat to the vet at 9 o'clock. Mow the lawn. Laugh at jokes. Watch for opportunities today. Tomorrow. In six months time. Oh, and give some coins to the busker.

Leap into the chasm. No alternative when you really think about it. I’m still queasy and scared. I wish the ever-present fear would go away, but it doesn’t. In the here and now I'm not permitted (or required) to have all the answers. I hate that.

Cycles

8.40 am. Off to work. Time for a quick photo.

Given escalating petrol costs and my disinclination to return to full time work, it's looking increasingly unlikely that I'm going to be able to afford to run a car. It would mean cutting back so drastically in other areas that it's not worth it. And I've never enjoyed driving. And I'm pretty dark green, environmentally speaking.

Two colleagues, K and V, are in the same position. We're lucky in that we all live in town, on bus routes, that we've all got bicycles - and that the topography around here is river-plain flat. Not good for floods but excellent for unfit cyclists.

So V brings up the subject of electric bicycles as a way of going further afield and even negotiating the occasional steep hill. In the face of her enthusiasm I've done a little research on the net. This could be a possibility.