In which the three of us enact an Edwardian Novel

One of my favourite books is “The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists” by Robert Tressel.  It is about the sufferings of a group of house painters in a fictionalized version of Eastbourne at the start of the 20th century, and the title comes from the fact that they are “Philanthropists” because they are giving up the fruits of their labour to a capitalist class who do no work themselves.  They have ragged trousers because they receive so little back in exchange for the work they do.

Actually, I agree with the views expressed by Owen, the hero of the book, because strangely enough, for a middle class lady in a huge house who has greatly benefited from it herself, I do not agree with Capitalism or think it is the best way to run human affairs.  I do not attempt to change the system we have in any meaningful way, but that does not mean I condone it.

But anyway, the reason I brought this up is that one of the good lines from the book is “The men work with their hands and the masters work with their brains” which is used to justify why the capitalists who do no work at all are allowed to live off the sweat of the workers.  Today J and I toiled away in the garden (I will give J the benefit of the doubt here and describe him as a “part time toiler” rather than an “occasional toiler”), and R sat upstairs looking at his computer.  He calls this “work”, but apart from making money, it doesn’t seem all that very laborious.