Money, money, money....

Money. It doesn't matter, does it? Surely, it's what's on the inside that counts? Well, I'll refer you to that bit in Pride and Prejudice when Lizzie Bennett sees Mr Darcy's estate for the first time and realises that she might just fancy him after all. And please remember that Lizzie Bennett isn't a gold digger by any means. She's the most independent of the Bennett sisters. She's an intelligent woman. She could see that Mr Darcy had the complete - and very large - package...(it was the white breeches...!)

Seriously though, so many relationships break down over the issue of money. Being skint brings out the worst in people. It makes them bitter, miserable and angry. My first proper job in London was as a sales person for a holiday company. I was on fifteen and a half grand a year and it was absolutely horrific. I was living with my boyfriend who was working in Wetherspoons and earning about half as much as me. I couldn't afford to pay the TV license and I distinctly remember hiding upstairs with the lights off when the TV licensing people rang the doorbell. Living in one of the most exciting cities in the world but being so poor was not fun at all.

Speak to anyone who has spent night after night lying next to their partner, staring at the ceiling and wondering how they're going to make rent that month. Or spending their life in a monotonous cycle of work/supermarket/home and never being able to afford to do anything because they simply can't afford it. As someone who spent the last part of her marriage supporting her partner and getting little in return except grief, I am now whole-heartedly looking for a man who has more than ''four hundred pounds a year.'' And a country pile wouldn't go amiss either....

Do I want to find someone who can match me in terms of salary and make my life easier financially than it currently is? Yes. Does this make me a bad person? I don't think so. I would like to find someone who doesn't suck his teeth and look worried when the bill for the two margherita pizzas and bottle of house wine arrives. Or make you pay for it because he's 'forgotten' his wallet. It happened. More than once. However, with the man in question, I don't think this was actually because he was skint. It was because he was stingy.

I absolutely hate stingy men. I think it's the biggest turn off ever. On the first date, I believe that the man should pay. Of course, I'll offer to split the bill, but I would think it odd if he was to agree. Later on, I'll happily pay the bill, but at the beginning, I want to feel that the man is happy to spend money on taking me out.

On a Sunday, scrubbing the shower, I am angry that I can't afford a cleaner. I would love to come home and find the house clean and tidy. I would also love to be able to afford to get my hair dyed at a salon rather than doing it myself in the bathroom. (Actually, I've probably spent a small fortune on new bath mats and so doing it myself is probably a false economy...)

I started thinking about this difficult issue of money because a friend of mine has been trying to set me up with a friend of hers. I looked at his picture on Facebook and didn't particularly fancy him. Then she told me that he earns around seventy five thousand a year. Instantly, I perked up. His substantial salary made him seem, to me, instantly more attractive. Actually...maybe I'm not shallow after all, maybe it's not the money. Maybe it's the fact that to have a high paying job one must be ambitious, have drive and be intelligent, all qualities that I value? This guy is a police detective and I do find that quite impressive. The idea of him bashing down a door and shouting 'Police' makes me feel a bit funny. Also I can imagine him questioning someone, in his shirtsleeves and sporting one of those cool sets of braces that hold a gun, like Brad Pitt in 'Seven'... mmmmm....Actually, knowing my luck he probably looks less Hollywood and more Sun Hill.

Now, here's the unfeminist bit we're not supposed to admit to. Please don't think badly of me when you read this...

Sometimes I do fantasize about having a rich husband who buys me jewellery and a beautiful house complete with a live-in housekeeper. On a cold winter evening, when I climb the stairs to my flat after a twelve hour day at work, arms weighed down with supermarket shopping and unmarked A-Level portfolios, I think how nice it would be to have money so I didn't have to work quite so bloody hard. I am, as the phrase goes 'having it all' but sometimes, 'it' is just too much. On the days when I'm so tired that making an omelette for tea seems like a major mission, being a lady who lunches seems like a really attractive option. Do you hate me?