I am the rich man

People claim to have traced versions of the rhyme back to the 15th century, and found a written version in the 17th century, though not with all the same destinies as the modern octet, if I have understood correctly. There must be something a bit special about it to have survived that long. The broken rhythm, that springs a surprise at the end, is catchy: 2, 2, 2, 2, 1+1, 1+1, 3, 1. That makes it attractive and memorable

The rhyme makes it clear that life's odds are stacked against you: a tinker is an itinerant handyman - despised, as travellers always are. Soldier and sailor were the last resort for most men - jobs you had to be tricked, pressed or kidnapped into. Poor, beggar or thief are just descending levels of destitution. Only the status of tailor confers any sort of ordinary respectability, but that pales into insignificance in the face of the big one: your one-in-eight chance to be (or marry, depending on the player) a rich man

And there is maybe the heart of its durability: it's a kind of cashless gambling, the dopamine rush of staking, not money, but your whole life on a game of chance. Of course the player knows it is nonsense, but there is always that little superstitious catch of uncertainty, that 'what if'. Perhaps, if I play my cards right, it really could be my lot to become rich

Damson jam; my favourite. Better than anything money could buy