I'm in constant fear of getting old. While I spend much of my time joking with my running mates that I'm an old, sad, broken man, I'm pretty lucky that, touch wood, I can still head out for a run for a few hours and be fairly confident that I won't keel over midway. As I near a half-century, I can be fairly satisfied that not too much rust has gotten into the chassis or bodywork. But while physically I'm in pretty good shape, sometimes something happens which reminds me that, as far as my values and perceptions go, I'm positively geriatric.
I was reminded of this uncomfortable fact recently while perusing the magazine shelf in the Christchurch Koru lounge. Since Air New Zealand decided to cut costs by dispensing with the daily papers in their lounges, visitors have had no other option than to chose from the small number of magazines that Air New Zealand has on the shelves. And since fashion and lifestyle magazines aren't my thing, on this occasion I picked up one of those personal investing magazines that give readers a five-minute guide (attention spans and all that) to becoming rich.
This particular magazine has recently been taken over by a property investment group (who are also branching out to reality television, just in case there wasn't enough cringe already). As would be expected, the veneer of content sitting on top of pure marketing was even thinner than is usually the case. The magazine reminded me a little of the heady days of the mid to late '80s. It was full of exhortations to "think big," "make your tenants (and the Government) pay your mortgage," "leverage for growth," and "retire in your '30s" messaging.
It was also full of pictures of impossible beautiful young people, driving late-model European vehicles, living in palatial homes and generally enjoying what appears to be a totally relaxed life - spending huge amounts of money that miraculously appears courtesy of rapidly growing property prices and historically low interest rates.
