I went on a "preparing for retirement" course. It gave me some useful information though not as much as I'd have liked. There was too much on legal ways to avoid paying tax, and how to protect yourself from any demands other people might make on you while having a great time. I'd rather have heard tips on how the older fencer might avoid muscle-strain and injury, coupled with advice on good novels with really interesting elderly protagonists. I'd also have liked advice on how to protect my inheritance and pass it on to the next generation. This matters a lot to me, as I've lost quite a few of my assets already.
When I was young, I was part-owner of energy suppliers, railways - even reservoirs and water-pipes. It was great. It meant I had a voice in how they were managed and how much it cost to use them. Of course, I shared ownership with the rest of the population of the U.K. but I was quite happy with that. Then the government took them away and sold them to better-off people and big companies. I suppose there was some kind of pay-off, which meant we didn't pay quite so much tax, but I still miss my ownership of gas, electricity and water supplies, and the trains which charge so much for every journey. Other people profit from them now and my voice is less likely to be heard; I'm a complaining consumer now when I used to be a part-owner.
There are many things I still own. Hospitals, for instance. Of course, the folly of Private Finance Initiatives gives me less power over my property - the property I probably share with you and millions of others. But it's still mine and I reckon that gives me a better chance of being heard when I have something to say about the way it's run.
I own schools too - and art galleries, museums, leisure centres, parks and playgroups. I own libraries too, and what a treasure they are. These are things that can show us that life is worthwhile - that it's more than mere existence. They teach us to think and question, and provide us with joy. Many of these are free - and I wish that everyone should also be able to go to the theatres, concert halls and opera houses in which I have part-ownership. It seems wrong that some of the owners should be unable to benefit from their own property.
So much of my inheritance is under threat, and I want to pass it on to my children, to other people's children, and to all who might benefit from it. This is the kind of wealth I want. I don't want to avoid paying tax if it means that I'm stripped of the assets I really care about - assets that might make a difficult future bearable for me and for others.
When I was growing up, I felt rich because I could go to free museums, borrow books from free libraries - even go to free performances of Shakespeare plays in London parks. That was wealth indeed. And from the window of our council flat I looked out over a great park and felt as though I owned that as well. I didn't. It's a royal park and belongs to the Queen but everyone who wishes can walk in it so that's much the same thing. We called it "our back garden." And although we sometimes sought solitude there, we were always happy to share it with everyone else.
London used to feel like home. I still feel comfortable in tube tunnels and crossing bridges over the Thames. I love to glimpse St Paul's Cathedral in the distance, even if it's now too expensive to enter. Admission was free when I was young and I visited often.
I was born in London and grew up there so I'm sad at recent changes. The poor and homeless are at once visible and invisible as Londoners make an effort to avert their eyes and hurry past. This doesn't seem to surprise the people who huddle in sleeping bags and watch the passers by. I didn't see homelessness like this in London until the 1980s. Now the city seems closer to the London that enraged Dickens and his fellow reformers. Homeless people probably received more sympathy in the nineteenth century than they do in the 21st. Few now believe in Christian love and charity.
I was reminded of this when I visited the National Portrait Gallery and saw Grayson Perry's Jesus Army Money Box. It's part of his "Who are you?" exhibition and I stumbled on it when looking for something to do before catching my train home. The exhibition is free, which is a great inducement to see it - and it's set out as a trail to follow through the gallery. The works are varied: tapestry, printing, sculpture and, of course, pottery. The works on display received a great deal of attention. The Huhne Vase brought mocking laughter but most of the exhibits, especially the Ashford Hijab and I Am A Man, received delighted appreciation. But I think the Jesus Army Money Box puzzled people.
We're not used to pictures which celebrate a group that's usually seen as a cult. But the focus of the money box, based on mediaeval reliquaries, treats the beliefs of the Jesus Army seriously while also depicting their good works: the care and hospitality they provide for homeless people. Perhaps that thought is rather shaming for visitors to the National Portrait Gallery. The conversations I overheard often showed a generous concern to accept people who are members of "outsider" groups, particularly if they crave acceptance. But I didn't hear any expressions of sympathy for the Jesus Army, or for the homeless people they help.
There's probably a lot that the Jesus Army believe that I don't agree with - and I certainly won't be rushing out to join them. But I wonder what the people bedded down in doorways on frosty nights would think of the Jesus Army Money Box, or if security staff would let them into the Portrait Gallery to see it.
