For years I have been competing with my brother-in-law. He is married to my wife’s sister and each summer the four of us spend a week in Cornwall, along with all our children. For Johnny and me, this is a period of mutual accounting in which we forensically examine each other’s achievements over the last 12 months. Who’s earned more? Who’s advanced further up the career ladder? Who’s put on more weight? Not everyone’s idea of a relaxing holiday, perhaps, but if you’re an intensively competitive sort of person — as we both are — it’s quite fun.
Or it used to be. Six months ago, Johnny’s medium-sized technology company, where he has laboured for eight years, was bought by a large American competitor. As a minor shareholder, he earned more at a stroke than most journalists can expect to make over their lifetimes. I feel like a hare who has been competing in a race, just about keeping up with another hare, only to discover that he is in fact the Road Runner. I now can’t see Johnny for dust.
To give you an idea of how this has changed the dynamic between us, take my new car. I am rather pleased with this purchase, a second-hand VW Caravelle that seats eight. Perfect for a family of six. But Johnny was unimpressed.
‘How much was it?’ he asked.
‘Five thousand pounds.’
‘Five grand? That’s what I’m looking to spend on a lawnmower.’
In case the significance of this fact didn’t immediately sink in, he reminded me that his new country house is surrounded by five acres of verdant pasture. I can’t say I’m surprised that he didn’t think much of my camper van. Since the sale of his company, he has bought a BMW M6 and a Porsche 911. When I pointed out that he already has two cars, and that it is a little un-green to run four simultaneously, he said he’d only bought the 911 in order to race it. Apparently ‘track days’ are now a part of his weekly routine.
As I write, I am midway through our weekly Cornish holiday and I have fallen back on the only option available: I have become a passionate environmentalist. When Johnny suggested we rent a motor yacht to cruise round the Lizard, I said we couldn’t possibly do that on account of its carbon footprint. ‘Don’t you care about the fate of the planet?’ I asked. Being green, I’ve discovered, is the perfect way to dress up your envy as moral superiority.
But my heart isn’t in it. If I had shares in The Spectator and it was bought by Goldman Sachs next week, the first thing I’d do is buy a 911. I suspect I’m not alone. Beneath the unpretentious exterior of most middle-class men, with all their talk of being perfectly happy with a Volvo and a Victorian semi, there is a Premier League footballer struggling to get out. It is only when they win the career lottery that this monster is unleashed. One minute we’re doing the school run in a Vauxhall Zafira, the next we’re racing Porsches at Brands Hatch. Before he made out like a bandit, Johnny used to read the Guardian. Now it’s Spear’s Wealth Management Survey.
I suspect this will be our last holiday in Cornwall together. Like me, Johnny used to pretend that he actually preferred bucket-and-spade holidays to jetting off somewhere hot. Not any more. He and his family have already spent two weeks in Ibiza this year — ‘The villa was a bit too luxurious, embarrassing really’ — and next year it will probably be four. When you can afford to be somewhere else, it is hard to deceive yourself that sitting on a beach in the drizzling rain is your idea of a perfect summer holiday.
The difference between Johnny Mark I and Johnny Mark II was brought home on Sunday when we spent the day at Church Cove. The local shop announced that it was holding a sandcastle-building competition and I immediately set about trying to create a replica of the Titanic. In previous years, Johnny would have been right alongside me, vying for the top prize. Not this time. He was just stretched out on a beach towel, flicking through auction catalogues. What is the point of winning a sandcastle competition when you’ve just bought a real castle in Herefordshire? In his shoes, I’d be exactly the same.
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