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Well, to be honest, so do I.
I hurry into my bedroom and hide the Benetton bag in the wardrobe. Then I unpack all the rest of my shopping and get out my little silver notebook to itemize my purchases. David E. Barton says this should be done straightaway, before items can be forgotten.
'D'you want a drink?' comes Suze's voice through the door.
'Yes please!' I shout back, writing in my book, and a moment later she comes in with a glass of wine.
'EastEnders in a minute,' she says.
'Thanks,' I say absently, and keep on writing. I'm following the rules of the book exactly, taking out all my receipts and writing them all down, and I'm feeling really pleased with myself. It just shows, as David E. Barton says, that with a bit of application, anyone can gain control of their finances.
Come to think of it, I've bought quite a lot of moisturizer today, haven't I? To be honest, when I was at the Clarins counter, buying my revitalizing moisturizer, I forgot about all those pots I'd bought at Boots. Still, never mind. You always need moisturizer. It's a staple, like bread and milk, and David E. Barton says you should never scrimp on staples. And apart from that, I don't think I've done too badly. Of course I haven't added it all up yet, but…
OK. So here is my final and complete list:
Cappuccino – ?1.50
Muffin – ?1.00
Magazines – ?6.40
Egg and cress sandwich – 99p
Coconut bath oil – ?2.55
Boots moisturizers – ?20.97
Two cardigans – ?90
Evening Standard – 35p
Clarins neck cream – ?14.50
Clarins moisturizer – ?32.50
Beauty bag Free!
Banana smoothie – ?2.00
Carrot cake – ?1.20
And that comes to a grand total of ?173.96! I stare at this figure in utter shock. No, I'm sorry, that just can't be right. It can't be right. I can't have spent over ?170 in one day. I mean, it isn't even the weekend. I've been at work. I wouldn't have had time to spend that much. There has to be something wrong somewhere. Maybe I haven't added it up right. Or maybe I've entered something twice.
My eye runs more carefully down the list, and suddenly stops in triumph. 'Two cardigans'. I knew it! I only bought…
Oh yes. I did buy two, didn't I? Blast. Oh God, this is depressing. I'm going to go and watch EastEnders.
Endwich Bank
FULHAM BRANCH
3 Fulham Road
London SW6 9JH
Ms Rebecca Bloomwood
Flat 2
4 Burney Road
London SW6 8FD
6 March 2000
Dear Ms Bloomwood
Thank you for your answer-machine message of Sunday 5 March.
I am sorry to hear that your dog has died. Nevertheless, I must insist that you make contact with myself or my assistant Erica Parnell within the next few days, in order to discuss your situation.
Yours sincerely
Derek Smeath
Manager
ENDWICH – BECAUSE WE CARE
Six
OK, I think firmly the next day. The thing is not to get freaked out by how much I happened to spend yesterday. It's water under the bridge. The point is, today is the begi
David E. Barton says you should aim to cut your expenditure by half in the first week but I reckon I can do much better than that. I mean, not wanting to be rude, but these self-help books are always for people with absolutely zero self-control, aren't they? And I gave up smoking easily enough. (Except socially, but that doesn't count.)
I feel quite exhilarated as I make myself a cheese sandwich and wrap it up in tinfoil. I've already saved a couple of quid, just by doing that! I haven't got a flask (must buy one at the weekend), so I can't take in coffee, but there's a bottle of Ame in the fridge so I decide I'll take that instead. It'll be healthier, too.
In fact, it makes you wonder why people buy shop made sandwiches at all. Look how cheap and easy it is to make your own. And it's the same with curries.
David E. Barton says instead of forking out for expensive takeaway meals you should learn how to make your own curries and stir-fries, for a fraction of the cost. So that's what I'm going to do this weekend, after I've been to a museum or maybe just walked along the river, enjoying the scenery.
As I walk along to the tube I feel pure and refreshed. Stern, almost. Look at all these people on the street, scurrying around, thinking about nothing but money. Money, money, money. It's an obsession. But once you relinquish money altogether, it ceases to have any relevance. Already, I feel I'm in a completely different mindset. Less materialistic, more philosophical. More spiritual. As David E. Barton says, we all fail to appreciate each day just how much we already possess.
Light, air, freedom, the companionship of friends… I mean, these are the things that matter, aren't they? Not clothes and shoes and fripperies.
It's almost frightening, the transformation that's already occurred within me. For example, I walk past the magazine kiosk at the tube station and idly glance over – but I don't feel the slightest desire to buy any of the magazines on offer. Magazines are irrelevant in my new life. (Plus I've already read most of them.)
So I get on the tube feeling serene and impervious, like a Buddhist monk. When I get off the tube at the other end, I walk straight past the discount shoe shop without even looking, and straight past Lucio's, too. No cappuccino today. No muffin. No spending at all – just straight to the office.
It's quite an easy time of the month for Successful Saving. We've only just put the latest issue of the magazine to bed, which basically means we can laze around for a few days doing nothing, before getting our act together for the next issue. Of course, we're meant to be starting on research for next month's article. In fact, I'm supposed to be making lots of phone calls to stockbrokers today, asking for their investment tips for the next six months.
But somehow the whole morning goes by and I haven't done anything, just changed the screensaver on my computer to three yellow fish and an octopus, and written out an expense claim form. To be honest, I can't really concentrate on proper work. I suppose I'm too exhilarated by my new pure self. I keep trying to work out how much I'll have saved by the end of the month and what I'll be able to afford in Jigsaw.
At lunchtime I take out my sandwich wrapped in foil – and for the first time that day, I feel a bit depressed. The bread's gone all soggy, and some pickle's leaked out onto the foil, and it really doesn't look very appetizing at all. What I crave at that moment is Pret Manger walnut bread and a chocolate brownie.
Don't think about it, I instruct myself firmly. Think how much money you're saving. So somehow I force myself to eat my soggy effort, and swig down some Ame. When I've finished, I throw away my foil, screw the top back on the Ame bottle and put it in our tiny office fridge. And that's about… five minutes of my lunch break gone.
So what am I supposed to do next? Where am I supposed to go?
I slump miserably at my desk. God, this frugality is hard going. I leaf dispiritedly through a few folders… then raise my head and stare out of the window, at all the busy Oxford Street shoppers clutching carrier bags. I want to get out there so desperately, I'm actually leaning forward in my chair, like a plant towards the light. I'm craving the bright lights and warm air; the racks of merchandise, even the bleep of the cash registers. But I can't go. This morning I told myself that I wouldn't go near the shops all day. I promised myself – and I can't break my own promise. Or at least, not so soon…