The Moneyless Man
Authors: Mark Boyle
THE MONEYLESS MAN
“A pleasure to read. An important experiment which has relevance for everything from global sustainability to local community. Boyle tells it with wit, good humor, and generosity of spirit.”
Patrick Whitefield
– Author of
Permaculture in a Nut Shell
“It’s difficult not to admire the philosophy and the infectious home-spun and passionate tone of this book.”
Benedict Allen
– Survivalist and author of
The Faber Book of Exploration
“An inspiring and entertaining guide to escaping the money trap and reconnecting with reality.”
Paul Kingsnorth
– Author of
One No, Many Yeses
“Reading Mark Boyle’s account of his courageous year-long experiment helps to break the spell of money over your life. It reminds us that a simple life can be a rewarding one. Even if you only want to live on less money rather than none, this book is jam-packed with practical tips for comfortable survival.”
Theo Simon
– Lead singer of Seize the Day and activist
“Mark Boyle is one of the prophets of the transition movement, and what he writes is important – but this book is also a wonderful, funny and thoughtful glimpse into the future.”
David Boyle
– Author of
The New Economics: A Bigger Picture
MARK BOYLE
A Oneworld Book
First published in the United Kingdom by
Oneworld Publications 2010
First published in North America in this revised edition 2010
This ebook edition published by Oneworld Publications 2011
Copyright © Mark Boyle 2010
The moral right of Mark Boyle to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved
Copyright under Berne Convention
A CIP record for this title is available from the British Library
ISBN 978–1–78074–063–8
Typeset by Jayvee, Trivandrum, India
Cover design by designed by david.co.uk
Cover photo Ersoy Emin ©
Oneworld Publications
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Oxford OX2 7AR
England
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To MKG
11 Unwelcome visitors and distant comrades
15 Lessons from a moneyless year
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My name is on the front of this book, which suggests that these words are mine. But that’s a half-truth. I claim no ownership. How could I? They are merely an accumulation of all that has come before them – the people I’ve met, the books I’ve read, the songs I grew up with, the rivers I’ve swum in, the girls I’ve kissed, the movies I’ve watched, the traditions I’ve learned, the philosophers I’ve studied, the mistakes I’ve made, the violence I’ve seen and the love I’ve witnessed.
There are a few people really close to me to whom I’d really like to express my gratitude (disclaimer – if you are not named it doesn’t mean I don’t love you). My folks Marian and Josie, for giving me everything they ever could and for their relentless support. People like Chris and Suzie Adams (and wee Oak), Dawn, Markus and Olivia (to name just a few) who have helped me forge this path and who were there for me when I first walked down it, when I stumbled on it and who are still helping me today. To Mari, for your love and the unbreakable bond I have
with you. To Fergus, for being a beacon of light in darkness and for reminding me why I do it. For those like Marty, Stephen and Gerard, who have taken different paths but who define the word ‘friend’ for me. To my community, near and far, whose wealth of knowledge, skills and friendship have had a value far beyond money over the last year. To Mike at Oneworld, my fantastic editor, whom you need to thank if, for some strange reason, you end up enjoying this book, and to Sallyanne for being the most supportive agent in the world.
Lastly, to the many thousands who have contacted me to offer their support over the year and to those who have criticized me, as it reminds me that my opinion is just one of many and that I have much to learn.
The timing just doesn’t get any better. Five after six on the evening of my last day in moneydom and as far as I am concerned, the stores have effectively closed down for a year. It’s been an unexpectedly long day; the media caught a sniff of my plans to live without money and so, instead of making the final preparations for my impending social experiment and – far more important – having a last beer at my local bar, I ended up doing interview after interview after interview. The sound of my voice answering the same questions over and over again has made me slightly nauseous.
Cycling home from my final interview at the BBC, on a short-cut through a particularly boozy, neon-lit and broken-glass-clad quarter of Bristol, I feel my rear end wobble. It’s nothing major, only a puncture, but it is a symbolic example of the challenges I’ll be facing every day for the next twelve
months. I’m eighteen miles from my trailer, where I’ve foolishly left my repair kit, but I can stop at my girlfriend Claire’s house to patch up the tube. My only concern is that I’ll have to drag my slightly crocked bicycle, with two heavy saddlebags on the back, for just over three miles. Given that I’m five minutes too late to buy a new wheel, I could really do without buckling the one I have.
On my way there, I give my buddy, Fergus Drennan, a shout. Fergus is a famous forager but, unfortunately, a terrible bike mechanic. Nevertheless, he’s irrepressibly enthusiastic and just what I need. The pressure of time, mixed with apprehension about the year ahead, is starting to take its toll. After we eventually make it to Claire’s house, as I mindlessly start undoing what I think is the back wheel, he describes how I can make paper and ink from mushrooms. Exhausted, but intrigued by his ramblings, I’m increasingly frustrated at my difficulty in getting the wheel off. At the precise moment I think I should get some food inside me before I either pass out or shove a Death Cap mushroom down Fergus’s throat, there’s a huge ping!—and something that looks rather important springs across the room. Instead of loosening the wheel, in my exhaustion I’ve released the rear dérailleur. This really isn’t very good news. With the exception of my body, this bike is easily the most important possession for my impending experiment. Actually it’s not merely important, it’s absolutely essential. It’s a thirty-six-mile round trip on foot to many of my sources of potential food and wood and eighteen miles to most of my friends; without the bike, traveling to meetings would become impossible and I wouldn’t have a hope in hell of being able to scavenge for the bits and pieces I’ll inevitably need throughout the year.
I know a bit about bikes but something as intricate as the rear dérailleur is beyond me. In my previous, moneyed, existence, if something went seriously wrong with the bike, I took it to the
bike store, bought some new parts and paid the nice assistant to fix it. That, however, was no longer an option. I’d spent the day talking to reporters about how, for six months, I’d been preparing myself to succeed in living without money for a year and here I was, four hours before I’d officially started, lying, completely mentally and physically exhausted, beside a freshly-mangled bicycle that was at the heart of my plans. Given the fact that I was also due to cook a free three-course meal the next day for one hundred and fifty people, made from wild and urban-foraged foods that I hadn’t yet gathered, I was starting to feel the strain.
It wasn’t just the bicycle that worried me. It was one small example of the thousands of problems I encountered in a normal year. The difference was that in the past, I could have thrown money at my problems whenever and wherever they arose. I realized what a precarious position I was in, about to enter a world of which I had very little experience. For the first time, I felt vulnerable. The simplest of tasks, tasks that up to now I would have taken for granted, would become extremely difficult, if not impossible. Was this experiment doomed to failure from the start? I decided not to think about it: there was no backing out and anyway, millions of people had heard me talk about it, which added considerably to the pressure I was feeling.
And so as I lay there, covered in oil, full of apprehension, exhausted, stressed and staring at the ceiling, so many thoughts flew through my mind. How on earth had I managed to get to this point in my life and why the hell did I end up embarking on this seemingly impossible mission so publicly?
WHY MONEYLESS?
Money is a bit like love. We spend our entire lives chasing it, yet few of us understand what it actually is. It started out, in many respects, as a fantastic idea.
Once upon a time, people used barter, instead of money, to look after many of their transactions. On market day, people walked around with whatever they had produced; the bakers took their bread, the potters brought their pottery, the brewers dragged their barrels of beer and the carpenters carried wooden spoons and chairs. They negotiated with the people they hoped would have something of value to them. This was a really great way for people to get together, but it wasn’t as efficient as it could have been.
If Mr Baker wanted some beer, he went to see Mrs Brewer. After a chat about the kids, Mr Baker would offer some bread in return for some of Mrs Brewer’s delicious beer. A lot of the time, this would be perfectly acceptable and both parties would come
to a happy agreement. But – and here is where the problem began – sometimes Mrs Brewer didn’t want bread or didn’t think her neighbor was offering enough in exchange for her beer. Yet Mr Baker had nothing else to offer her. This problem has become known as ‘the double coincidence of wants’: each person in a transaction has to have something the other person wants. Perhaps Mrs Brewer had discovered her husband was gluten-intolerant and so Mr Baker had been contributing to her lesser half’s irritable bowel syndrome. Or that rather than bread, she really wanted a new spoon from Mrs Carpenter and some fresh produce from Mrs Farmer. This was all very confusing for poor Mrs Brewer.
One day, a man in an exquisite top hat and tailor-made pinstriped suit entered the small town. The people had never seen him before. This new fellow – he introduced himself as Mr Banks – went to the market and laughed as he watched the hustle and bustle as everyone chaotically mingled and tried to get what they needed for the week. Seeing Mrs Farmer unsuccessfully trying to swap her vegetables for some apples, Mr Banks pulled her aside and told her to get all the townspeople together that evening in the Town Hall, as he knew a way in which he could make their lives so much easier.
