My bank account is constantly filled with money.

A boiler goes in February.

For one household it is a bad week and an irritating phone call. For another, identical boiler and identical price, it is the start of something that takes eight months to climb out of.

The difference is not income. It is whether anything was sitting behind the account when the thing broke.

That cushion is the least glamorous form of wealth and the one that alters daily life most. Nobody photographs it. It just converts disasters into inconveniences, quietly, which is most of what anyone actually wants money to do.