Student
Spending a student loan feels slightly more surreal than spending the hard-earned equivalent. The money’s come from nowhere so the natural progression appears to be spending it on nothing. Or an oddity. At least, I think that’s how I’m going to justify Linford; my perfectly black dwarf rabbit.
But you do hear stories of others less frugal in their allocation of the term’s budget. The guy who ended up on a cargo ferry to Oslo. The casino trip where the student loan was placed on red; a black day indeed.
My stance on money is that I’d like to have enough of it, to not have to worry about it at all. Money is a necessary evil but it seems to make sense to try and dilute the impact of its inherent inconvenience as much as possible. The only reason it’s necessary is that there’s a complete lack of alternatives. Bartering would be fun for a while, you’d begin to equate everything to something. Is a car worth a years rent? Is a night out worth swapping your shoes for? People would probably start trading services- “I’ll cut your hair if you cook me a steak dinner?” But I would pride myself on entering into only the most sporadic of off-topic trades.
“Care to swap a loaf of bread for that can of Coke?” “Nah, I’ll be alright mate.”
“How about that mango you’re holding for this tambourine?” “Sold.”
Intuitively, we have a sixth sense about money. We know that the Saville Row suited gentleman with a Rolex has it. And scruffy students don’t. But the benefits are bountiful to both. The affluent gentleman can jetset his way across the world at the drop of his bowler hat. But my clothes ensure I don’t get bothered by charity collectors whilst walking down the high street. Every cloud.
Money, and the acquisition of it, tends to roam at the forefront of our minds. The failure of Communism proves that to want more than the next man is a basic human characteristic. This is why we operate a meritocratic society where one succeeds if they are good enough. And work hard enough. Except if you’re a musician. Then, it seems you’re career will be half about the music and half about whether you successfully avoid the luscious lures of the crack pipe. Well, if you’re a devastatingly talented, prodigious rock and roller. And your name’s Pete or Amy.
Money is also the preferred method of enforcing obedience. A piece of paper littered with red writing and pound signs is the most effective way to bully mankind into adhering to the little laws we laugh about. That’s the one major plus of bartering. The admin costs would render parking fines, and most other minor violations, financially inviable. Imagine the paperwork involved in the trade of two donkeys and a dog in return for being caught doing 45 in a thirty. Chaos.
A wise man once told me that every friendship I ever had would blossom as long as I didn’t let girls or money get in the way. And he shouldn’t worry, because money’s a problem at the moment, so I don’t think girls will be.
Musician
Why is it you never hear the poor man say ‘money can’t bring you happiness’? You only hear the rich complaining. What bastards. Well, I’ve had my moments.
My world had the word ‘jackpot’ attached to it when I arrived into my record deal; musically and financially. Not many moments can you truly say ‘I was laughing all the way to the bank’, with figures and sums on a cheque that closer represented a game of hangman played by a man who only knew the letter O. I was happy, and my friends were happy for me. But they were still broke; they were still students.
I was careful not to blow it. Well at least not straight away. I basked in foreign sun, toyed with top of the range music equipment, and dined on sumptuous feasts of which 5-star restaurants were the architects. I flew around in 4 wheels that went a heck of a lot faster than once before, I was 19, rich, and I lived like a king. However, I was well aware that whilst I was buying a lovely black car, my student friend’s equivalent was a domestic black rabbit, and despite the different depreciation rates, I was winning. But it was never a competition, and I was damn sure not to make it one before my student friend, became just a student.
None the less, to make things relative for you, hear this: I had a conversation with an artist I worked with in Singapore, a global American star who shall remain nameless. His name was Sean Kingston. And whilst buying himself a watch that to me seemed like more of a glamorous weights session for one’s wrist than a timepiece, he asked me what car I drove. I said an Audi. He replied ‘Ah man, sick, I have an R8 too’. And to those who don’t know, he was referencing his $100,000 beauty in comparison to my £20,000 A3. So of course I pretended I had one too. After all, money makes you happy, right? Well, a wise man once said that happiness is relative to expectation. So where Sean Kingston has is Audi R8, he yearns for a Rolls Royce, and where I have my Audi A3, I will soon steal Kingston’s R8.
For a man who’s not that interested in cars, it appears I’ve written most of this blog about them. And not even my own. So let me get back to what I was saying. It’s nice having money, it helps hugely towards a stress-free life. But as a musician, sometimes a whole year will go by with little or no income, the balance of my bank weighs towards a less charming sight, and I inevitably get struck with the fear of reality – perhaps that little mystery of money that I took for granted is actually incredibly rare and valuable. And indeed it is. So now I spend my pennies wisely. A ‘frugal man’. A yes, I’ve lifted that word out of my student accomplice’s counterpart blog. What of it.
Luckily, I’ve never been broke, so if going by this student’s theory – I should be getting continuously harassed by beautiful members of the fairer sex... Well they’re not all gold diggers you shallow bastard. But they do all like musicians. So perhaps on that front, I win. Sorry mate.
