According to a YouGov survey earlier this year, the cost of living tops the list of public concerns at 54 per cent before immigration and asylum (49 per cent), health and the NHS (43 per cent) and the economy (33 per cent). According to the Independent, half of Britons have under £25 left at the end of the week and 79 per cent say the cost-of-living crisis has negatively affected their wellbeing. But here – at long last – is where the impoverished aristocrat comes out on top.
Often found lurking in the depths of rural England, the impoverished aristocrat is more than used to weathering bad economic climes. Both they and their ancestors have dealt with a fair few cost-of-living crises in the past. No heating is not a problem for them as they are used to wearing more jumpers than the Michelin man, shutting off rooms and taking refuge by the Aga instead. As long as they can make a mean cup of tea, cup-a-soup and the odd baked potato with lashings of beans and cheese, that will ‘be more than enough’.
An impoverished aristocrat will never be upset if they can’t go on a shopping spree. Shopping, in their opinion, is frightfully common. Never introduce them under any circumstances to Primark, they might have the first anxiety attack of their life. Retail therapy is strictly confined to Waitrose for whiskey and Aldi or Lidl for just about anything else apart from possibly tea bags. Meat should be bought from a butcher too; they’re not taking any chances on feeble pledges on plastic packaging.
An impoverished aristocrat will keep their clothes for a lifetime; garments will be thrown out only if more than half of their surface area has been eaten by moths and even then, it’s up for debate. They might buy a new jumper at Burghley Horse Trials once a decade but that’s pushing it and only if the man who is selling has dropped his price again because it’s 5 p.m., raining and he wants to go home.
An impoverished aristocrat will never mind if they don’t go on holiday. The whole concept of the holiday is fairly plebeian to them – it might even bring them out in hives. They don’t understand why anyone would want to put up with the faff of boarding a plane, let alone sitting in close proximity to someone who might have a tattoo, bad breath and pay for the privilege.
If the impoverished aristocrat feels like a change of scene, they just call a friend and announce they are coming to stay. Much easier and cheaper, plus they can catch the train if they’re going to Scotland. And why would they ever stay in a hotel unless it was a Relais & Châteaux and their billionaire friend was paying? A Relais & Châteaux is the only hotel that will bring you a cup of tea in bed after all. They leave the booking of hotels to others and rarely stay in them unless someone else has organised it.
Often found lurking in rural England, the impoverished aristocrat is more than used to weathering bad economic climes
The impoverished aristocrats don’t have to worry about keeping up balloon payments on their swish car because they don’t – and never have – owned a nice car. Their car is at least 15 years old, and even that’s relatively new by their standards. A Subaru Forester, an old Toyota RAV4 or a boxy gold Volvo circa 1999 will do nicely. Their cars are a health hazard and always have been. They’ve never had a car valet-cleaned and they’re still finding banana skins that Tottie discarded on the school run ten years ago when she was at prep school. In fact, last week, they found a frightfully useful shopping list that reminded them of an excellent upside-down cake recipe. If someone had cleaned the car, that shopping list would never have seen the light of day.
They are quite happy to do without a cleaner – their house will just be dustier than normal. A bit of dust and dirt never hurt anyone, neither will a spot of dog poo, which they will simply hoover up off the carpet in a jiffy. The cleaner also used to hoover up ladybirds which was frightfully annoying as they have an important role in the garden. The roses would go to pot without them.
And what about the expensive gym membership that has to go? Well, this is something that the impoverished aristocrat cannot sympathise with. The concept of paying to battle with some horrible piece of equipment whose sole purpose is to make you sweat is an anathema to them. Sweating like a pig is thoroughly unedifying and what’s wrong with walking around the estate or garden, for goodness’ sake? No, the impoverished aristocrat can take her five dogs on a walk (she won’t have less than five) before running – sorry drawing – herself a bath with a few drops of Penhaligon’s bluebell bath oil essence that her nephew Jolyon bought her before coming to stay last Christmas.
The only thing that will keep them up at night is the thorny issue of school fees. The impoverished aristocrat will sell the family silver, portraits and not eat for a month if necessary. A private education is about the only thing they care about, apart from their dog Badger and whose turn it is to do the flowers at the church on Sunday. If you see a bottle of Comte de Senneval champagne in Lidl, or ‘Leedles’ as they call it, do grab it; they’ve had to give up drinking Bollinger but the count’s dupe is nearly as good and about a third of the price.
Comments