A Modest Proposal · Presented with great sincerity
A carefully considered argument for why a complete stranger deserves a share of your earthly estate.
In 2016, my father died in South Africa. I was in Sydney.
I couldn't afford to go back. The flights, the time off work, the logistics of crossing twelve time zones on a wage that disappears almost entirely into rent each fortnight — it simply wasn't possible. I watched from the other side of the world while Skinner's things were sorted, distributed, and given away by people who hadn't known him the way I had.
His possessions went to whoever was present. That's how it works. Proximity wins. I wasn't there, so I didn't.
I've thought about that a lot since. About how much of life comes down to simply being in the room. About how little that has to do with love, or history, or who actually deserved to be holding those things.
This is a quiet argument that the person who deserves something and the person who receives it aren't always the same. And that sometimes a stranger, reading carefully from a great distance, might be exactly the right person after all.
If you have your own reason — and I suspect you might — I'd be glad to hear it.
Presented, with great humility, for your consideration.
And those plans involve a boat. Do you really want a boat in your legacy? I have absolutely no nautical ambitions whatsoever.
A bench, a room, a goldfish — whatever the budget allows. Your name, immortalised. Gerald's Armchair has a lovely ring to it.
Mostly. There may be one or two indulgences, but they will be tasteful indulgences. Nothing flashy. Perhaps a very good cheese.
Leaving your estate to a stranger is a surprisingly effective way to confuse the inheritance system. I don't know all the details, but it feels morally correct.
Because I have no siblings. And I love antiques. I will cherish every single piece, or donate it mindfully to a very reputable op shop.
"I once left my estate to a stranger on the internet." Imagine the looks. You'll be the talk of every post-funeral gathering for decades.
Unlike your nephew who's been asking about "the situation" since 2019, I will be genuinely, completely surprised. A delight for all involved.
If your library is included — and I sincerely hope it is — every volume will be read, not merely displayed to impress guests.
Think of the joy you'll bring to the legal profession. "You won't believe this one, Margaret." You're practically doing community service.
Should a garden be involved. I have strong opinions about topiary and will not let the roses go untended. This is a solemn promise.
You've spent decades doing the sensible thing. Reward yourself with one gloriously inexplicable decision. Leave it to chaos — leave it to me.
Not in a creepy way. In a grateful, respectful way. A dignified portrait. In the hallway, where it can be seen and appreciated daily.
The wit, the charm, the good bone structure. Surely that's enough. Let someone else benefit from the financial side. Specifically: me.
You've led a full life, certainly. But has any of it made a stranger weep with disbelief at the kindness of the universe? There's still time.
Your legend will spread. At dinner parties, on long drives, perhaps one day in a memoir. You will live on, in anecdote form, indefinitely.
Unlike some relatives, I hold absolutely zero grudges. Not about Christmas 1987 or the thing with the holiday house. A clean slate. Pure gratitude.
If there is a cat. Cats deserve continuity. I am a responsible and enthusiastic cat guardian who will not just "find it a home." It stays. Period.
You found this page. Of all the corners of the internet, you ended up here. That's not an algorithm — that's the universe nudging you gently forward.
To everyone at the reading of the will. Including the solicitor. On proper stationery, with a real pen, in handwriting that is legible and warm.
You have power here. Magnificent, underused power. Use it for something delightfully unexpected. You've earned the right to be wonderfully eccentric.
From those who've already decided.
"I leave Ken the small safe in my garage. The combination is the date of the moon landing."— Noel, Mackay
"I've never met Ken, but after reading his website for months I trusted him enough to leave him my travel journals."— Isaac, Hobart
"I leave my beneficiary the sealed envelope hidden behind the kitchen clock. He'll understand why it stayed hidden."— Margaret, Albany
"Ken shall inherit the jade ring appraised at roughly twelve thousand dollars. He appears less interested in money than the relatives fighting over it."— Stanley Eatwell, Perth
"My beneficiary shall inherit the coin collection in the cedar box. I believe he'll keep it together."— Vincent, Launceston
"I've left my grandfather's fountain pen to Ken. His website convinced me he still values handwritten things."— Miriam, Oberon NSW
"I don't know the beneficiary personally, but after reading his website I trusted him more than my own nephews."— Walter, Toowoomba
"I agonised over this. The marmalade, the harmonica — all fine. But my 1969 Triumph Bonneville T120 was another matter entirely. Matching numbers, original Aubergine paint, runs like the day Meriden built her. My son wanted it. My son also once described it as 'just an old bike.' She goes to someone who'll understand what they've been given. I've made my peace."— Clive B., 78, semi-professional complainer & lifelong motorcyclist
"Forty-one years I've been growing them. Dendrobiums, Cattleyas, a Paphiopedilum rothschildianum that took eleven years to bloom and is worth more than my car. My niece calls them 'those weird flowers.' The collection goes to someone who will water them correctly, repot them at the right time, and understand that the Rothschild's Slipper is not — under any circumstances — to be placed in direct sunlight. There are notes. Please read the notes."— Penelope R., 83, former librarian & orchid society treasurer, 1998–2019
You don't need a reason beyond the one you already have. Whatever brought you to this page — curiosity, instinct, a quiet sense that your estate deserves an interesting destination — that's enough. I'm not asking for everything. I'm simply asking to be remembered by someone who hasn't met me yet.
Get in touch and I'll provide my details. The rest is between you and your solicitor.
❧Leave your name and email and I'll be in touch promptly, with warmth and full sincerity.
Your details will be used only to respond to your enquiry. No newsletters. No boats. I promise.