Err, I'm back. Briefly.

Forgive me if this gives you whiplash. No sooner had I pressed publish on my last post,  signalling time for a blogging break, that I realised my mind was swirling with thoughts that I couldn’t possibly not blog about. So here I am.

You see a friend has recently suffered an indecent and flagrant invasion of her privacy and I am incensed and saddened on her behalf. It matters not that this friend knows nothing about me or indeed that I exist. Because none of those minor details have dimmed my horror and sorrow over the past few days. It is hard to watch someone you care about, however odd or misguided that care may seem, be let down.

I am, of course, referring to the Duchess of Cambridge. And I will say from the outset I think she has been let down. Badly. Let's start with the facts. Whilst on a private holiday with her husband, in a private home, she enjoyed some private pool time. During that time she removed her bikini top. Little did she know that 1.6 miles or 2 kilometres away there was a photographer hiding in the trees, snapping away at her every move with a super lens. I have heard many people say 'She should have been more careful!', 'She should always expect photographers to be there', and even 'She would have known'.

I disagree. As a bystander, admittedly one with an unfounded level of familiarity and inexplicable perceived affinity with the Duchess and her Duke, my take is this. They are a private couple with a very public life. From the outside it looks like they manage this dichotomy adeptly. When duty calls, and it frequently does, they are smiling, gracious and professional. They execute their public responsibilities with warmth and enthusiasm. And, I understand that the rest of the time they seek out privacy and relative normalcy. Since they got married the public component of their lives has obviously increased as has the insatiable appetite to scrutinise their every move. But even with that they have avoided controversy.

The Duchess has now been in the public eye for nearly nine years. In that time, even with photographers tailing her every move, there has not been one scandalous image of her taken. No drunken antics, no nudity, no drug taking, nothing remotely illicit. And I don't think that is by accident. Which is precisely why I refuse to entertain the possibility that she was aware a photographer might be capturing her by the pool in France.

And neither should she have. I absolutely believe they are entitled to privacy; to have time when they can live like no one is watching. If they chose to cavort by a pool in a plush resort open to the public (albeit at a very high cost) I would understand photographers being there to capture the moment. But they weren't. They were in a private home enjoying what they thought was some time to themselves before embarking on their joint tour of Asia and the pacific. How humiliated and violated they must have felt after discovering their private time was nothing of the sort.

I can't imagine how heavy the burden of public scrutiny feels on the shoulders of two people my age, particularly knowing that interest is never ever going to subside. I can only imagine the way they manage it is by courting and relishing their privacy whenever they can. And in that regard my final point is this. 

Remember when you were little and you stayed with, or even just visited, family friends or relatives who were really strict and formal? And do you remember the utter liberation you felt on returning home or going outside, being free to roam, run amok and frankly let it all hang out? I remember that feeling very clearly. I can only hazard a guess that it is multiplied exponentially for Kate and Will, when they have just finished three million formal functions in a week and they realise they can escape the public gaze for a few days. 

Frankly if I was them I would be so deliriously drunk with joy every time a blank space came up in my diary, that if photographers were there to capture the moment it might not be pretty. Wouldn’t you do something a bit crazy? At the very least, eat ice cream in your underwear while dancing to Roxette???

If you are tempted to indict my friend for being reckless I just ask for a modicum of sympathy. As far as public humiliation goes, can you visualise anything worse than discovering your private time had been photographed and shared with the world? And not just that but instead of being able to quietly retreat with your family or friends, you have to continue on a very public tour, fronting the media and great crowds, for every waking minute for the next week?  

Ok. That’s me. Where do you stand? 

Taking time

I am a bit sad about this post. A big bit sad actually. It is time for me to take a little break from regular blogging. It is not a break because I have run out of ideas or because I am sick of it or because I have finally been appointed as the Duchess of Cambridge's lady in waiting. Alas. It is simply because I am running out of time. And not in an existential or macabre way. 

It's just my days are shrinking. Or at least the  window of productive time between my waking hours is greatly reduced  and I'm struggling to fit everything in. Between working four days a week, taking care of Miss I, growing a new family member, trying to get organised for said new family member, co-running a household, being a wife, sister, daughter and friend, and writing my blog, all whilst trying to maximize the amount of time I spend asleep or at least horizontal, I'm knackered. 

Another bout of illness last week - like a cruel return to the morning sickness I left behind 20 or so weeks ago - made me very aware of this. Something has to give and for the next little bit it has to be this. As much as I love it (you know I do) this little blog is the one task I can actually relinquish temporarily. (Trust me when I say I wish I could relinquish tasks like cooking, cleaning, washing and all the other bits and pieces that co-running a household involves).

Rest assured I will be back. And soon. I have several posts half-written and more ideas every minute so there is no way you can escape me permanently. (I really need to find a way to convert ideas into free time - any suggestions are welcome.) I just won't regularly post on a Wednesday for the next few weeks. 

Until then, stay well, my dearly beloved readers. If you uncover any fantastic blogs or sites whilst you're navigating the immense black hole that the absent NABM will inevitably leave in your daily lives, please share! 

Let's talk again soon.

Money matters

Here in NABM land we’ve inadvertently been doing a spot of social research. It wasn’t an experiment we set out to conduct but we did and the results are so compelling that I feel compelled to share them with you. Now I realise it’s impolite and dull to talk about money but money is, alas, part of life and because this blog is based on my life it falls into the explorable subject matter. So bear with me and I promise I’ll try not to be crass or dull. At least no more than usual.

I’m not sure if you’re familiar with various pieces of actual academic research showing the correlation between money and happiness but I will summarise. Up until a point happiness and money do correlate; essentially if you’re in financial stress money does limit your happiness. Understandably not being able to pay your rent, buy groceries or meet your basic needs is stressful and unpleasant enough that it detracts from your enjoyment of life. But once you reach a point where you can meet your basic financial requirements, and this point is modest, there is no longer any correlation between your bank balance and your happiness. So. In a nutshell a modest amount of money can buy you happiness but after that you’re on your own. Having a tonne of money is no guarantee of tonnes of happiness. Gina Reinhart is an apt case in point.

Anyway. I have recently tested this theory and I can say with certainty that the research is spot on. The start of this financial year marked the start of a much better time for us in pure dollar terms. Two small pay rises, some additional casual income and a significant reduction in childcare fees (because the government rebate* re-started) all conspired in our favour. 

Let me be clear; the difference in real dollars is not substantial. You won’t find me shopping with abandon, planning overseas holidays, servicing a large mortgage or becoming a regular at a luxury day spa any time soon. But the difference, in actual real life terms, is substantial. We can now meet our monthly expenses without concern and no longer fear unexpected bills. And, let me say, the difference that makes is HUGE.

It wasn’t that finances consumed my every waking thought but there were several times each month where I was anxious about money. And not in the broader sense of long-term security but in the day-to-day practical sense. And until that changed a few months ago, I hadn’t realised quite how heavy a burden it was. Now that I don’t spend any time fretting our day to day expenses I feel quite liberated. And that’s when it occurred to me that we had crossed that tipping point on the graph. It didn’t take much but we moved from a point where money was a genuine concern to a point where it genuinely isn’t. At least, not in the day to day sense. And I’m genuinely happier for it.

I should make a few disclaimers here. We were not drowning in debt or sitting on the brink of bankruptcy. We were by no means living below the breadline and I wouldn’t suggest for a minute that we encountered genuine financial hardship. It would be insulting and disingenuous to say that. Aside from anything else we have a huge psychological buffer in the form of supportive people in our lives whom would never let us starve. And between us, in our different jobs, there is earning potential on the horizon. Both of those factors make us extremely lucky so please don’t think I’m crying poor in that sense. We’re just not. But equally I am sincere in saying that when household income only just covers the essential household expenses it is a tense equation.

I raised this with Mr G the other night and he agreed that the past two months, without the mental constraint of finance-related fears, have been much more enjoyable. He also made the point that the household equation that made us both uncomfortable can apply at any income level. I agree to a point. Financial stress is described as a situation where your income doesn’t cover your expenses. If your expenses include a three million dollar mortgage and five European holidays each year and you’re struggling to accommodate those with your earnings, on top of the essentials, my sympathy for the ‘stress’ in that situation is limited. 

On the other hand, my sympathy for any person or family whose earnings only just cover the basics is unlimited. It doesn’t take much but even just a small margin in your favour at the end of each month makes such a psychological difference. At least it did for me.

What do you think? How do you describe the relationship between money and happiness?

*Ah the government’s “50 percent” childcare rebate which is sadly only “50 percent” to a point. A point that is reached very, very quickly when the only childcare position available to your toddler in the entire city sits in the “Maserati/Ferrari” price bracket. Which would be fantastic if you were in the “Maserati/Ferrari” income bracket. It is less fantastic when you’re not because it will then turn out that for nine months out of twelve you will essentially work just to pay childcare fees. In which case it’s quite important to love your job or, at the very least, love office clothes, which incidentally I do.