The Will-ometer

We have a long running joke in our family about the "Will-ometer" i.e. who gets what when Mum finally checks out. Now don't take offence at this - Mum is totally in on the joke as well. Any slight misdemeanour by my three siblings or me (and there have been quite a few over the years) is noted and I am sure that there is a book somewhere that she updates on a regular basis.

I can confidently date the conception of the "Will-ometer Theory" back to the summer of 1996. At the time I was living in a beautiful village called Meribel in the French Alps. I'd spoken to Mum on the phone and she seemed a bit down so I decided to invite her out for a couple of weeks. Within two hours I had the rest of the family on the phone to me. Eldest Brother (in New Zealand, how did he get to hear of this so quickly? It’s the middle of the night there)"I've upgraded her flight to Business class". Older Brother "I'm taking her to the airport". Sister "I'm minding her house and watering her plants when she's away". The battle lines were drawn.

Over the years the Will-ometer has provided a wealth of comedy moments – both deliberately and inadvertently as the level of creeping to Mum increases. I’m not saying for one minute that the care and attention that we all lavish on our dearest Mama is directly linked to how much we all individually think is in it for us, but every time one of us hopes that they have scored a few more points on the heritance board then the others are quick to hear about it.

So, all of us have had to endure taunting phone calls and triumphant postcards from places such as New Zealand, America, Spain, France and closer to home within the UK. Being on the receiving end of one of these “Guess where I took Mum today…” communications is gut wrenching. The palms go clammy and sleepless nights follow as you desperately think of new ways of ingratiation.

A few years ago we celebrated Mum's 80th Birthday weekend with 2 events. On the Friday scenes reminiscent of that wonderful epsode in the series Father Ted when Mrs Doyle and her friend come to blows over who is paying followed a family meal at a local restaurant. “I’m paying”, “No, I am”, “No, I insist” – all of course in Mum's presence. The next day we held a surprise party for her at my sisters’ house where various assorted relatives and friends had assembled. Fortunately everyone came along willingly but I was quite prepared to adopt the “Come to the Party or the cat gets it” approach to any wavering attendees who were on my list.

The four of us have all adopted different tactics as the game has developed over the years. The two who live a few miles away from the family home favour the “drip drip” approach. Daily or thrice weekly visits, or offers of trips to the shops and other places are the preferred routes to the loot.

I live 200 miles away so I go for the “nice holiday once a year” option and I think on balance that this is serving me well. In Mum's 80th year I took her on a long wanted trip to Paris. By coincidence (honestly Mum!) The Rolling Stones were playing at the Stade de France. Tickets were secured and off we went. The sight of Mum bopping along to “Sympathy for the Devil” will stay long in my memory. Technically old enough to join the group, she sadly failed the final audition as she couldn’t quite master the chord sequence for “Start Me Up”.

My oldest brother lives in New Zealand but distance has proved no object in his relentless pursuit to ensure at least the 25 % that should be on offer. True, he failed to show for Mum's 80th – a misdemeanour that is often casually, but regularly, mentioned within Mum's earshot – but biennial all expenses paid trips to Auckland more than make up for his absence (or so he thinks…). To maximise the impact these trips usually occur in the middle of our winter so Mum can get the benefit or two summers. However the words “straws” and “clutching” still spring to mind and the “you’re flying Business Class” routine is now a little dated.

My Partners family have now embraced the Will-ometer concept. 5 children obviously sets the bench mark a bit lower at 20% but as I believe the pot is big enough to facilitate this distribution I am not unduly concerned. The recent imposition of a limit on Capital expenditure (whereby at least 3 of the offspring must give their written consent if the parents plan to spend more than £200) has been seen as a prudent measure in these times of economic turmoil.

The end of the rainbow where our pot of gold lies is fortunately still well out of sight. Mum continues to enjoy good health and we can look forward to many more years of competition. The never-ending search for new ways to increase the inheritance indicator will continue – mindful of course that Mum might well have the last laugh and already have bequeathed everything to charity. Surely not?