Poverty, in my opinion, can sometimes be a question of expectation. I realise my generation was lucky in many respects with free college education, more affordable housing and a decent pension, but we were used to much more basic living standards and knew how to make a little go a long way.

I grew up in a Lancashire mining village in a small cottage with no bathroom. One of my jobs was to cut up the News Chronicle for loo paper in our outside closet, which ceased to function in the cold winter months. I don’t remember owning a pair of shoes – I walked to school in wooden clogs – and my family would receive handouts from the parish church at harvest festival. I left school aged 13 with no qualifications and worked in a furniture shop. But I started going to free night classes and completed my school certificate. I had wanted to be a priest but I didn’t want to live a lie because of my homosexuality so I trained to be a teacher when I was 25. I went from leaving school with no qualifications to being a headteacher in London and in the Bahamas, where I lived for eight years.

When I first qualified I was earning far more than my father ever did as a miner and, although teachers’ salaries have never been high, I felt flush. I could indulge my interest in antiques and in the theatre. By the time I retired in 1990 I was on £25,000 a year. As I counted as a key worker I got a council flat in central London and when I retired I bought it for £32,000 with a £48,000 discount under the right-to-buy scheme. It is now worth about £500,000.

Because of my upbringing, I have always been careful with money. I’ve never owned a mobile phone or a car – the London Freedom Pass has enabled me to travel for free for the last 20 years. I never visit restaurants or cafes and marvel when I see them filled with young people because it costs so much to eat out. Fortunately I am an excellent cook and each day I buy reduced-priced food that has reached its sell-by date. My clothes are from charity shops. I don’t own a credit card. If I want to buy something I walk to the bank and draw out the cash.

I have two pensions – my monthly state pension is £652.68 and my teacher’s pension is £860.36 a month. This gives me an annual income of £18,156 which also supports my partner whose pension is only £30 a week. Our monthly expenses are between £500 and £600, including food and drink, utilities, phone and the internet, council tax and service charges. I donate my annual £250 fuel allowance to charity and give £5 a month to support Stonewall. My luxuries are subscriptions to the Guardian and Friends of the British Museum, the Tate Galleries and the Royal Academy. Many of my pastimes cost nothing. Nowadays I can see only eight plays a year when I receive free tickets for acting as a guide to a group of American theatre-going enthusiasts. I’m a regular at the free Gresham lectures at the Museum of London and I volunteer at a community centre, as well as teaching English to refugees seeking asylum.

Every couple of years my partner and I spend three months in Rio de Janeiro where his family lives. Each trip costs me about £7,000, including donations to our hosts. With careful management, I am able to save a little each month in case I might need long-term care in the future.

I have been extraordinarily lucky in my life, but I have also been prudent. Younger people today have greater temptations and it’s far easier to obtain things you can’t afford. When I was young you couldn’t buy what you wanted unless you saved for it, sometimes for months.

A fortune teller once told me that I would never be short of money but never be rich. As Mr Micawber in David Copperfield said, “Annual income £20, annual expenditure £19, 19s and 6d, result happiness.” So I guess I am happy.