Frivolity, escapism and luxury. Jealous?
Of course we would all love be in a position where we could afford not to be tied to the sinking ship to which we have attached ourselves, bills, credit cards, mortgages. So why the saying money cannot buy happiness a saying I am inclined to agree has it's merits. Money does not buy happiness but it sure makes misery a hell of a lot more comfortable.
Imagine if we could all run off to Paris for sartorial satisfaction, pastries and Fruit De Mer, whenever we had had our hearts broken to lick our wounds.
The best us worker bee's can hope for is a night out at the local finished off with an unremarkable takeaway.
If Jane Austin would have been working class, can you imagine Mr Darcy? He probably would have been called Dave and had a dodgy eye but was a catch because he owned a cow!
The flowery romantic language replaced by a succession of colloquialism's and expletives, not so glamorous acquaintances called Maureen and Fanny.
Come to think about it the notion of romantic love was born of these idol trust funders with their allowances and dowries. In a world where you want for nothing and the standard of service and respect you recieve on a daily basis is second to none due to the class of the establishment's you frequent, living in the proverbial bubble.
The only real feelings of any note are those of love and passion, being wanted and desired, challenged, deprived are the be all and end all of existence.
Family expectations and responsibilities and differences in the way's we are socialised and raised serve only to further widen the gaps between us. Some say I would prefer to be poor and happy, but I would hazard a guess that the people who say that are already poor, if they had the things to loose in the first place, would they? What would you choose a life of comfort or a passion which may, although once a roaring fire become little more than an ember?
Whatever you think no one can deny that the pursuit of 'love' has become the thing that consumes all of our lives, rich or poor we seem never satisfied, we are expendable commodities despite the times we may have shared with one another.
Is that really love? Or are relationships just mutually beneficial arrangements that once obsolete are to be discarded to the lovers scrapyard, like last seasons accessories?
Think of Jane Eyre's poorer contemporary marrying Dave for his cow, as opposed to Jane wanting to marry for love. In fact in her own life she attempted to take the risk to be poor and happy but in the end could not abase herself after all for the sake of that which she so imaginatively wrote about.
Perhaps imaginatively is the operative word, so is this love we are chasing an unobtainable fantasy?
One thing's for sure we couldn't ask Jane for a straight answer.
Perhaps the only comfort we can have is knowing that irrespective of what we have, what we want in the end is the same.
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