The Moneyless Man Read online

  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

  THE MONEY-LESS MAN

  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

  185 Banbury Road

  Oxford OX2 7AR

  England

  Learn more about Oneworld. Join our mailing list to find about our latest titles and special offers at:

  www.oneworld-publications.com

  To MKG

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  1 Why moneyless?

  2 The rules of engagement

  3 Preparing the foundations

  4 Buy Nothing Eve

  5 The first day

  6 The moneyless routine

  7 A risky strategy

  8 Christmas without money

  9 The hungry gap

  10 A spring in my step

  11 Unwelcome visitors and distant comrades

  12 Summer

  13 The calm before the storm

  14 The end?

  15 Lessons from a moneyless year

  Epilogue

  Useful websites

  Index

  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.

  PROLOGUE

  BUY NOTHING EVE, NOVEMBER 28, 2008

  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 th
e 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?

  1

  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.

  That evening, the entire community came, jostling with excitement and intrigued to know what this charismatic stranger in the top hat and beautiful suit was going to say. Mr Banks showed them ten thousand cowry shells, each stamped with his own signature, and gave one hundred shells to each of the one hundred townspeople. He told them that, instead of carrying around awkward beer barrels, loaves, pots and stools, the people could use these shells to trade for their goods. All everyone would have to do was decide how many shells their wares and produce were worth and use the little tokens to do the exchanging. ‘This makes a lot of sense’, said the people, ‘our problems have been solved!’

  Mr Banks said he would return in a year and that when he did, he wanted the people to bring him one hundred and ten shells each. The ten extra shells, he said, would be a token of their appreciation for how much time he had saved them and how much easier he had made their lives. ‘That sounds fair enough but where will the ten extra shells come from?’ said the very smart Mrs Cook, as he climbed off the stage. She knew that the villagers couldn’t possibly all give back ten extra shells. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out eventually’, said Mr Banks as he walked off to the next town.

  And that, by way of simple allegory, was how money came into being. What it has evolved into is far removed from such humble beginnings. The financial system has become so complicated that it almost defies explanation. Money isn’t just the notes and coins we carry in our pockets; the numbers in our bank accounts are only the start. There are futures and derivatives, government, corporate and municipal bonds, central bank reserves and the mortgage-backed securities that so famously caused the world-wide collapse of financial institutions in the 2008 credit crunch. There are so many instruments, indices and markets that even the world’s experts can’t fully understand how they interact.

  Money no longer works for us. We work for it. Money has taken over the world. As a society, we worship and venerate a commodity that has no intrinsic value, to the expense of all else. What’s more, our entire notion of money is built on a system that promotes inequality, environmental destruction and disrespect for humanity.

  DEGREES OF SEPARATION

  By 2007, I had been involved in business in some way for nearly ten years. I had studied business and economics in Ireland for four years, followed by six years managing organic food companies in the UK. I had got into organic food after reading a book about Mahatma Gandhi during the final semester of my degree. The way this man lived his life convinced me that I wanted to attempt to put whatever knowledge and skills I had to some positive social use, instead of going into the corporate world to make as much money as I could as quickly as possible, which was my original plan. One of Gandhi’s sayings, which struck a chord with me, was ‘be the change you want to see in the world’, whether you are a ‘minority of one or a majority of millions’. The trouble was, I had absolutely no idea what that change was. Organic food seemed (and in many respects still does) to be an ethical industry, so that looked a good place to start.

  After six years deeply involved in the organic food industry, I began to see it as an excellent stepping-stone to more ecologically-sound living, rather than the Holy Grail of sustainability I had once believed it. It had many of the problems rife in the conventional food industry: food flown across the world, convenience goods packed in too many layers of plastic and large corporations buying up small independent businesses. I became disillusioned and began exploring other ways to join the growing movement of people worldwide who were concerned about issues such as climate change and resource depletion and wanted to do something about them.

  One evening, chatting with my good friend Dawn, we discussed some of the major issues in the world: sweatshops, environmental destruction, factory farms, resource wars, and the like. We wondered which we should dedicate our lives to tackling. Not that either of us felt we could make much difference; we were just two small fish in a hugely polluted ocean. That evening, I realized that these symptoms of global malaise were not as unrelated as I had previously thought and that the common thread of a major cause ran through them: our disconnection from what we consume. If we all had to grow our own food, we wouldn’t waste 40% of it (as is done now in the US). If we had to make our own tables and chairs, we wouldn’t throw them out the moment we changed the interior décor. If we could see the look on the face of the child who, under the eyes of an armed soldier, cuts the cloth for the garment we contemplate buying at t
he mall, we’d probably give it a miss. If we could see the conditions in which a pig is slaughtered, it would put most of us off our BLT. If we had to clean our own drinking water, we sure as hell wouldn’t shit in it.

  Humans are not fundamentally destructive; I know of very few people who want to cause suffering. But most of us don’t have the faintest idea that our daily shopping habits are so destructive. Trouble is, most of us will never see these horrific processes or know the people who produce our goods, let alone have to produce them ourselves. We see some evidence through news media or on the internet but these have little effect; their impact is seriously reduced by the emotional filters of a fiber optic cable.

  Coming to this conclusion, I wanted to find out what enabled this extreme disconnection from what we consume. The answer was, in the end, quite simple. The moment the tool called ‘money’ came into existence, everything changed. It seemed like a great idea at its conception, and 99.9% of the world’s population still believe it is. The problem is what money has become and what it has enabled us to do. It enables us to be completely disconnected from what we consume and from the people who make the products we use. The degrees of separation between the consumer and the consumed have increased massively since the rise of money and, through the complexity of today’s financial systems, are greater than ever. Marketing campaigns are specifically designed to hide this reality from us; and with billions of dollars behind them, they’re very successful at it.