My father and I rarely see eye to eye when it comes to sense of humour. Yet one of the childhood memories to which I am most attached is the image of both of us rolling around on the floor, tears streaming down our faces which ached from insupressible laughter.
And to what do we owe this treasured moment? To the 'Little Tramp'. To the man who could make the world laugh using two forks and a pair of bread rolls.
Chaplin's life story reads as if the phrase 'rags to riches' was created in his honour. (Maybe 'honour' is a poor choice of word; to his misfortune.)
One of the few comedic actors to whom I will refer, tentatively, to as a genius; was forced into a workhouse at the age of seven, and whose mother was admitted to a mental asylum when he was nine. Hardly the stuff of fairy tales, unless you're a fan of the original works of Hans Christian Andersen.
I take a somewhat guilty pleasure from famous quotations. Having amassed books, websites and magazine articles on the subject under my belt; I continue to collect these soundbites of meaning everywhere I find them. I have shoeboxes filled with post-it notes and sheets of phrases and ideas, like a magpie which likes nothing more than to admire her treasures and applaud herself for having such good taste in theft. I applaud myself in having such a good taste in genius.
Dorothy L. Sayers, an early 20th century English author, joked that she always used quotations because it saved her having to do any original thinking.
(There's me disguising another quote in a sentence. I just can't stop.)
Which brings us to the original philosophy which kicked off today's train of thought: what is luxury and how do we stop ourselves getting used to it?
I was lucky enough to be born into a stable family background. The pinnacle of our poverty was perhaps when I had demanded ice cream as a child, only for us to realise - after my demands had been fulfilled - that we hadn't left enough money for the bus ride home. My parents walked for almost three hours to get home that night, me on my father’s shoulders and my mother telling stories so I wouldn't get restless.
Today, I am fortunate enough to attend a university cloaked in more traditions and prestige than it's terrified students can uphold. The terror of being faced with 4 rows of cutlery at the dinner table has been overcome. The complaint about how they're serving salmon AGAIN loses its absurdity. I do not hesitate at the thought of driving myself further into debt by spending a weeks worth of wages on a black tie event. Because, well.. EVERYONE DOES IT.
I'm painfully aware that this does not win many friends, nor does it ease our traumatic pathway into 'The Real World'.
Are we sad? I suppose that depends on what each of us has given up in the pursuit of such luxuries. Whether you still have the capacity to enjoy something you've grown accustomed to, and perhaps even bored of. How different were we before we knew what wealth tasted like?
All I know is; salmon gets very tiresome.
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