GETTING A POOL

Gordon Ramsay says a lot of things – most of which should be taken with a grain of salt (Maldon, reduced sodium). Or with an eye roll so aggressive you can almost hear the friction against the socket. But the British celebrity chef nailed it when asked why he and his long-suffering wife fly business or first class while his five kids travel in economy.

“I’ve worked my arse off to be able to sit near the pilot,” he was reported as saying (but with more swearing). “We all take off together, we all land together. Think what else you can do with money. Plus, you appreciate it more when you’ve grafted for it.”

That will probably melt the heads of those who think it’s a peevish attitude. And maybe it is. But surely because it’s Ramsay’s hard-earned dosh, he gets to decide how to spend it?

His words drifted back to me last year when I received a share of my parents’ estate. My late mother was a teacher, my father was a boilermaker and they had five kids. You don’t have to be a maths whiz to realise that cash was tight (even though love wasn’t).

But my parents excelled at all those things their generation was good at – working hard, socking away money, mending stuff and trying to convince us that hand-me-downs were as good as brand new.

Before he died, my father asked what I planned to do with my windfall. “Don’t do anything sensible with it,” was his advice. “You could put it on the mortgage, buy a new car or go on holiday. But why don’t you spend it on something you’ve always wanted, something you wouldn’t normally be able to afford?”

It’s no newsflash that the current economic situation is grim and, thanks to inflation and Covid, life is tough. Throwing precious cash at something non-essential flies in the face of my usual fiscal restraint, but Dad’s words kept nibbling at the edges.

So last January, possibly while suffering from heat stroke, I rang a pool guy. Actually, I rang six but only one bothered to get back to me. “I can’t get to you until April,” he said.

Me: “I just want to see if a pool could work in the space and get an idea of the cost.”

Him: “Yes, but I can’t come round until April because so many people want swimming pools,” he replied with a sigh so loud you probably heard it at your house.

It turns out that large chunks of discretionary spending curtailed by lockdowns were being channelled into renovations so there were more people wanting pools than there were people making/importing them. To be clear, I live at the rump end of the North Island where the temperature is mostly not Hawaii-warm. Why was there such a run on in-ground pools that can only be used for three days in February? I eventually found someone who could fit me in and after weeks of should we/shouldn’t we, our pool was ordered (to be clearer, no-one will be training for the Olympics in what is, essentially, slightly bigger than a paddling pool).

That was back in April; I’d love to be able to tell you about my daily swims or pool parties with friends, but at the time of writing it still hasn’t arrived (break out the tiny violins). But I live in hope that we’ll have a pool before summer ends. The first time I jump in, I’ll give thanks for my late parents’ hard work and generosity – and my father’s blessing to let me spend his money however I wanted. Ramsay, take note.