In the Saturday Guardian (01.08.26), I read an article where couples tracked their individual spending over a week, then compared notes. All of those featured had incomes way above our household, comprising two state pensions, a couple of very small personal pensions, PIP for me, and an occasional small amount of self-employed income for Bob.
I was indignant that the article didn't include anyone in a lower income bracket, and surprised at the casual spending of some of those featured. I posted about the article on Threads, mentioning the woman who spent £675 on beauty treatments in a week, and the man from another couple who impulse-bought a watch for £5,800. Neither of their partners knew just how much they had spent until it was revealed by participating in the experiment. For my money(!), the woman who spent that much on beauty, which she said was essential for her mental health, had a real problem with body image, and a lack of self-love. Her partner's reaction was that he needed to tell her more how beautiful she is. As for the luxury watch buyer, his partner was shocked and disappointed. The offender had spent £2,000 on a Rolex a few months previously, and his other half had his hopes dashed they would be able to save to adopt a child. More than that, he doubted his partner’s commitment to adoption, which he had believed they were both working towards.
The responses to my post on Threads were mostly in tune with my own thoughts, summarised by the cliché: ‘How the other half live’. One was judgmental of the beauty treatments woman. A couple of people agreed with me that she would benefit from therapy, that her spending was based on an underlying unhappiness. Quite a few, on low incomes themselves, made comments on just how little they have to spare. One had been debating for months whether to buy a £35 pot of face cream from Boots. Some expressed the opinion that, as long as they have the money, what's wrong with spending on that level?
I can see the argument: if they have the money, it's not a problem to spend that much. One person said their partner wouldn't know what they spent, nor would they begrudge them a luxury watch. I suppose stinginess in the affluent is less attractive, and to quote another cliché: ‘You can't take it with you’. I noticed that no one spent money on culture: no books, music, concert or theatre tickets, which are our essentials for mental health, or luxury items, depending on your point of view.
What did stand out was how important it is to talk about money in a relationship. My husband, Bob, would rather let things ride until he suddenly notices he has less than £50 spare till his next pension payment, weeks hence. I prefer to budget, which we try to do together, but usually falls to me. We put money into a joint account for bills and shopping, and have separate accounts too.
Ten years ago, we got into debt, and had to sell the house we were living in. A change of work circumstances meant that we could no longer afford the mortgage, nor the essential repairs needed on the house. A good friend and a family member helped us out with loans until we sold the house, which we were most grateful for, and repaid as soon as we could. Neither of us wants to be in that position again.
I used to be like Bob, not keeping a careful eye on spending. As a teenager, I was good at saving towards holidays and concert tickets. I had a Saturday job in Woolworths, and loved collecting my little brown pay-packet from the office at lunchtime, buying a record and perhaps a new top for a night out, then depositing some funds in my Chelsea Building Society account during the week. That changed during my first marriage. Husband One controlled the purse strings. A credit controller by profession, he knew about money, so I happily let him do the financial planning, and to tell me how much I needed to put in the joint account. I never checked his figures, and took it completely on trust. His penny-pinching did become annoying when he sat with accounting sheets every evening, marking every bit of spending. But it was needed. We had a mortgage; interest rates had soared, and we had very little to spare.
Sometimes I wanted to break free, to have a treat. One weekend, with the children staying at their grandparents, I suggested we go out for a meal. ‘We can't afford to do that,’ he said. Deflated, I accepted that he knew best.
15 years into the marriage, I fell in love with a man I had met through work. This man had very little money, but was not averse to spending it. I realised that I had been deeply unhappy for a long time, and that my husband had been, too. The marriage was dead, but neither of us had acknowledged it. The affair was a symptom of my unhappiness, but not the cause of my decision to end the marriage.
Having shown little interest in the joint spending of the household, I stayed up late one evening, looking through the accounts that my husband kept so meticulously. My heart told me that I had to leave, but my head knew that I had to check if I could afford to do so. On inspecting the spreadsheets, I discovered that I had been paying more into the household than he had. His income was way more than mine. I felt foolish that I had allowed it to happen.
One of my husband’s first actions when I told him I wanted to end the marriage was to cancel the extra credit card that I had on an account in his name. I had only ever used it to buy clothes for the children. It was a mark that he expressed himself by means of money. The breakup of finances was similarly marked by his continuing to exert control when we sat together and worked out how much he should contribute to the girls’ upkeep. He wanted everything itemised. When he asked me how much their sanitary towels cost a month, I lost it, and went to the Child Support Agency. Having a financial intermediary meant that we no longer had those painful discussions.
I'd not realised how big a factor money had played in our relationship. When I saw the Dickensianly-named solicitor, Mr. Quelch, about a divorce, he looked through my financial information, and said to me, ‘He's bullying you over money.’ The truth is, he had always done so. The house we shared was in negative equity, and he agreed to transfer the house entirely to my name, which I had thought a generous act. Mr Quelch said, ‘He’s left you with a very large mortgage.’
I learned from that experience that it is of great importance to discuss money in a relationship. It can make or break it. I became more financially savvy as a result. Although money can cause minor squabbles between us, Bob and I do talk about it regularly, and sort out who pays towards what. Martin Lewis of Money Saving Expert regularly stresses the importance of both halves of a couple knowing about household finances. See this article, from 2014: My five rules for a happy relationship.
All too often, when one half of a partnership dies, the surviving partner has no idea how to manage money. We have each set up Financial Powers of Attorney in case one or other of us becomes incapable of managing our affairs. All our financial information is detailed for our executors, for after our deaths.
I've come a long way from the woman I was in my twenties to mid-thirties, content to let another manage my finances. I may not enter spending on a spreadsheet every day, but I do know how much is coming in and due to go out every month. We are not averse to a splurge in our household. Rather than Botox, beauty treatments and luxury watches, we might overspend on concert tickets or a short break, on books and music, or on treating our granddaughter to an outing. After all, you can't take it with you.
Thanks to those that came along to my guest writer spot in Canterbury last Sunday, braving the 30 degree heat. Happily, we were in an air-conditioned room. A small but appreciative audience attended the SaveAs and Dead Hoarse Writers event. For those suffering from heat exhaustion, who decided not to come, you can order Learning to be Irish from the usual online outlets, or by emailing me: maria[at]medwaymaria.co.uk with your name, address and the number of copies you wish to order, at £14 inc p&p. I can then send you a Paypal invoice.
I am open to invitations to guest at other events, so please use the email address above to contact me.
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