Cash for questions, and to music

I must be in a whimsical mood.  That's one of the more curious titles for a bout of my ramblings.  Standby, I shall explain - or try to.

I haven't answered a reader's question for a while, so I thought I'd tackle a couple in one rant. 

The more substantive of the two is about money.  My correspondent perceptively notes that the tvdetective books contain few references to money and it's hardly used as a motive, when in the real world it's a very common one in crimes.

She goes on to ask why that may be? Which, as with so many questions from you educated and erudite bunch who somehow choose to read my books, is another very good one.  It's set me thinking, because it's another example of a part of myself coming out in the books which I was only vaguely, if at all, aware of.

Right, it comes down to this.  I don't much care about money. 

Now, I know that's a big statement and easy for me to make, as I do ok on the financial front. But even when I was younger, money never really bothered me.  Friends from college days set out to get rich, but I only ever wanted to do something passably interesting and worthwhile with my life.

(First aside here - please try not to start considering whether I've come anywhere close to achieving that!)

If I'm brave and journey further into the jungle of my past, I wonder if I might - at least in part - have a form of explanation.  If so, it's an odd one, but I'll try it anyway.

Much of my character is built on not being like my parents. Don't get me wrong, they loved me hugely, did their very best for me, made some immense sacrifices and I appreciate all that enormously.  It's just that, from an early age, I realised I had a very different outlook on life.

They worried continually about money.  I have a powerful early memory of them budgeting to get through a week, and thinking how unfair that was for such fine and hard-working people. I wonder if formative influences like that made me determined never to worry about money.

That then is my answer, as best as it can be.  I simply believe there are far more important things in life.  Which, almost seamlessly, you'll note, leads me onto part two of this blog, the happier subject of music. 

Despite me answering this in an entry last year, I still get much asked about my loves in music. So, for the next few months, I'm going to add one of my favourite songs to the end of each blog (assuming the aged and less than efficient Hall brain remembers.)

So, to start us off, put the needle to the record - as it were - for The Rolling Stones, and Paint it Black.

And as to why? What an evocative way of summing up a mood we've all know. Think of Dan and the eternal foe of his Swamp...

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