The rich man in his castle and the perks of ‘enough’

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Another summer, another wonderful week’s holiday in a luxury home.

Opulently furnished, with a fishing loch at the bottom of the garden and a hot tub by the jetty, we all chipped in for its weekly rental of two grand and did what we do with these places every year — estimated the freehold value over our first evening meal of the holiday.

North of one million, was the consensus. The type of house that lifts the spirits while simultaneously prompting a sobering assessment of where you are in life and what you have to show for it.

Yet as the week wore on, a strange soothing note began to sound. It was the keys that did it.

This place had a key for everything bar the toilet.

Every window, every exterior door. Two keys for the garage and three for the boathouse. The front gate and side gate. Barely a half day passed without a fearful “Anyone seen the key for…” alarm being raised somewhere in the house. Locking up each night was a chore reminiscent of a small prison. Job done, a full house of keys wobbled to a standstill on a depressing line of hooks; a visual reminder of responsibilities to be renewed tomorrow.

Returning to our modest, tatty semi-detached was a happier experience than usual. I unlocked the front door and stepped into a four-lock world once more. Front and back doors, the shed and a combo lock for the garden gate.

All you need to protect the trappings of just doing okay.

I’ll take it.