Epea Pteroenta

I don’t know anyone who doesn’t want to be a millionaire, but what they can do with the dosh depends largely on the monetary unit. You can bet your bottom banknote of choice.

monopoly money

I’ve been a millionaire, through the famous avenue (the game show, not the lottery). A double millionaire, if you must quibble, because I won two millions, but since it was back in the days when Greece had drachmas, the concept was not nearly as glamorous as it sounds. Less than a year later, the country entered the euro zone, with an equivalency of 340 drachmas per euro, which translated my earnings into just under 5,900 euros. Hardly a fortune, when you look at it like that, and it’s no wonder that it was gobbled up supplementing the unemployment benefit over three summers.

I remember a roadie at a certain metal concert, back in those days, approaching a bunch of us, waving a dollar bill in front of us and saying, ‘This is real money, not like the Greek stuff, which looks like Monopoly money.’ Greek banknotes might have looked like that, colourful as they were (50 dr = blue, 100 dr = red, 200 dr = orange, 500 dr = green, 1000 dr = brown, 5000 dr = grey-blue), but in fact dollars are the only western currency that is not colour-coded by denomination, plus the new Monopoly money, the euro, has given the green stuff a very serious run for its own dear self, so there. Poetic justice.

Now, what would I do if I had a million in real money? The question, hackneyed as it is, is always about dollars, but I’m going to buck the trend again. After all, right now one euro is 1.3 dollars and one pound goes up to 1.5 dollars. Since this is dream money, I’m going for the stuff that goes furthest. One million pounds sterling, please… that would make a big pile of blue and red notes, for sure.

It doesn’t sound like much, does it? Compared to my current non-existent disposable income, though, a whole million to myself feels like too much to even contemplate, and it would be quite enough for what I have in mind. I’m not particularly good with money, I admit it. I can keep hold of it, but I don’t have the knack to make it grow. Investments are beyond me, so I suspect that some clever saving would be the furthest I’d go.

First things first: a house or two. 100 grand towards a down payment for a bigger house here in England. The sale of the current place would pay it off, so no more mortgages to bleed us dry, and a few hundred more into our monthly budget. Another 200 grand for a flat in Athens. That would have to be paid in full, but it would give us a place to stay whenever we visited and would relieve my mum of the hassles of renting (both the payment and the fear of being asked to move).

700 grand left, and some charitable sharing is in order. As I read in one of my favourite books, Claire Nahmad’s Earth Magic, ‘when your ship of fortune docks, make sure others share in the cargo, at least a tenth part, or you will end up worse off than before’. And I’d be generous, because I’ve been too strapped to really give as much as I’d want for a long time. 100 grand to good causes in the UK and another 100 in Greece. My charities of choice have to do mostly with children, and the Greek budget could well go all to Child Smile, which supports both abused and terminally ill children and their families. Some of the English budget, though, would have to go to my local parish, which is housed in a historical chapel dating from Norman times, and St Helena Hospice, which is losing its MacMillan funding at the end of the year. No hospice should have to close; pain is a part of life, but it shouldn’t be the last thing one feels, nor should one need to trade human warmth and dignity for relief.

There’s still half a million there, and it’s time to secure my son’s future. 200 grand set aside would pay for his education; right now I plan to send him to Catholic school and hope he turns out bright enough to get into grammar school, but I’d like to be able to send him to a good private secondary school, if he doesn’t make it to the (bloody selective) grammar school. Even with that, there should be enough to see him through university, or even some postgraduate work, if he’s anything like me.

And even after that, there’s still 300 grand left for me to do as I please with, which means setting aside enough to pay for my theology studies in Cambridge (currently just over 10 grand) and putting the rest in the bank, choosing a savings plan that yields the best interest rates possible, and taking out that interest and a little of the capital each year as disposable income. That’s all. I’m not interested in expensive purchases or pastimes, and I’m happy with my modest life. I might buy myself a diamond or two, and a pair or two of Jimmy Choos, just to satisfy a long-standing hankering for something I could not afford, but I don’t care to, say, dress in top to toe Armani for the rest of my life. I’d much rather go for little luxuries that would make my daily life easier, like getting a cleaner a couple of times a week, outsourcing the ironing, calling a taxi whenever I need to go somewhere with the young one… and, dream of dreams, having private ballet lessons.

Above all, that kind of money would relieve my family of a lot of stress and worry, thus improving the quality of life of everyone in the household. So yes, money can’t buy happiness, but it can bloody well help… and one doesn’t need silly amounts of it, either.