This week I discovered what gazumping is and why one must fear it. We have, you see, embarked on the slow and arduous process of getting a foot onto the very lowest rung of the property ladder. The offer I mentioned on Sunday was accepted, and we have begun the routine of worrying ourselves into homeownership.
Today, during our mortgage appointment, we were asked to worry about what happens if one (or both) of us die. We also briefly touched on whether we even have enough money to survive, if we would like our house to be destroyed by fire and how much we would be willing to exchange peace of mind for cold, hard cash.
You see society can now eradicate the world’s problems by insuring against them; not only can money prevent the death of a loved one, it can restore treasured memories, regrow limbs and prevent natural disasters. More bizarre still, as we walked home and discussed Risk, it was me, self-professed Inventor of Multi-Worrying and the founder of the Association of Unnecesary Concern, who came away wanting to insure nothing at all. Even Barny was keen for just a small amount of security.
In my opinion the whole effort is like something I saw in our soon-to-be home. The bathroom is a delightful study in gruesome, melding both gold taps and textured tiles into a work of shameless faux regency, and complimented with a miniature gilded peddle-bin. Insurance is something that, at the time, you can’t live without because it appears to fit in with your lifestyle. Only later do you realize it was a waste of money and that you never even used it.
On the other hand, I can’t imagine finding hundreds of thousands of pounds in said receptacle following Barny’s unexpected death (subject to exclusions), so perhaps the metaphor still has a few kinks.