More money than sense

Isuppose when you’re really rich – so well off that you don’t actually have to think about what you spend and where you spend it – it could be quite difficult to work out how to spend your money.

We all, I would imagine, apart from the strongest-minded of us, probably have Lottery fantasies that we go through after we’ve had a drink or two of an evening.

Who we would give money to, how we would support causes that matter to us, the ways and means by which we would divide the spoils.

Of course, a comfortable standard of living – enough to get you through most of what life can throw at you – is probably what most of us aspire to and not all that many of us actually have these days.

Remember that emotive political phrase: “The just-about managing?”

Implicit in which saying is that it doesn’t take much to upset that generally rather precarious balance.

Enough is as good as a feast, they say; enough, certainly, is as good as it gets for most of us.

If you have to go about ordering solid gold cludgies and the like, to justify your existence – or just because you can – I’m sorry.

There must be a better way than that.

What has brought all this codphilosophical musing about is, believe it or not, the news that the very and well-deservedly wealthy Barbra Streisand has paid out at least five figures to commission clones of her late and much beloved pet dog.

Ethics aside, even though I miss my old and long-standing love, Ally the cat, like crazy, I cannot see a set of circumstances in which I would want to create a reproduction.

I loved him because he was an individual, a one-off, a character in his own right.

You might get a facsimile but you would surely never get that individuality that you miss and mourn.

And it’s being reported, as I understand it, that Barbra’s “new” dogs are not standard copies of what went before – these little animals are exhibiting characteristics all of their own.

Interestingly, the star is also reported to have taken in a rescue dog and that strikes me as much healthier all round for both the human and the animal involved.

Not to mention a much better way to spend your money.

Snobbery or sexism?

I am well old enough to remember the late 1960s and the telly classic, Civilisation, presented by art historian Kenneth Clark, long held up as an exemplar of what public service broadcasting should still aspire to.

Last week, a long-anticipated if not directly related series, Civilisations, appeared on our screens.

Now, granted, I was only 12 at the time that Civilisation (singular) came out and I imagine that there were other things in my life that were beginning to divert my attention from matters cultural.

But I don’t remember much personal flak re his telegenic qualities being directed particularly at a man who today would probably be described as a tweedy toff with a cut glass accent that could shatter the sound barrier.

Kenneth Clark was, of course, the father of politician Alan Clark, who, if I remember from my reading of his admittedly hugely entertaining diaries, once sneered at Michael Heseltine for being the sort of man who had to buy his own furniture.

Snobbery or sexism? Read on and take your pick.

Back then, however, everybody, I assume from my misty recollection, just accepted being lectured by someone who knew what he was talking about without finding it necessary to comment much, if at all, on his style or appearance.

Those were different days, of course; nowadays, although Civilisations (plural) is fronted by several widely experienced and seriously academically qualified presenters, it seems that the only one to be singled out and talked of in terms of what she (note the pronoun) looks like, instead of what she is actually saying, is Professor Mary Beard. Now, Professor Beard has fallen foul of social media trolling and the printed vitriol of TV reviewers on several occasions in the past and has, for the most part, risen above it reasonably successfully.

I suppose, in fact, that we might see the reactions of certain reviewers of Civilisations as a bit of a step forward, given that they seem to be suggesting that the eminent prof has scrubbed up a bit better in this recent on-screen foray since the days when her hair style and mode of dress led one commentator to suggest that she should not be allowed to find herself on camera at all.

Call me a naïve, sentimental fool, however, if I don’t exactly see that as progress.

And she hasn’t yet even exhibited bare arms, like the female newsreaders I found myself defending in print only a week or so ago.

But if we find a few mentions over the next few weeks of Simon Schama’s dubious taste in parkas or the attractively dishevelled demeanour of David Olusoga, I will be very happy to eat my words.

You might get a facsimile but you would surely never get that individuality that you miss and mourn

Picture: Getty Images. Barbra Streisand may be a woman in love with her late dog, but Helen thinks there are better ways to show your compassion than spending thousands on cloning an animal.