So on Monday morning, I stop off at Lucio’s on the way into work and buy an extralarge cappuccino and a chocolate muffin, just like I usually do. I have to admit I feel a bit sorrowful as I hand over my money, because this is my last-ever cappuccino and my last-ever chocolate muffin. My new frugality starts tomorrow — and cappuccinos aren’t allowed. David E. Barton says if you have a coffee habit you should make it at home and take it into the office in a flask, and if you like eating snacks you should buy cheap cakes from the supermarket. “The coffee merchants are fleecing you for what is little more than hot water and polystyrene,” he points out — and I suppose he’s right. But I will miss my morning cappuccino. Still, I’ve promised myself I’ll follow the rules of the book — and I will.
As I come out of the coffee shop, clutching my last-ever cup, I realize I don’t actually have a flask for coffee. But that’s OK, I’ll buy one. There are some lovely sleek chrome ones in Habitat. Flasks are actually quite trendy these days. I think Alessi might even do one. Wouldn’t that be cool? Drinking coffee out of an Alessi flask. Much cooler than a takeaway cappuccino.
So I’m feeling quite happy as I walk along the street. When I get to Smiths I pop in and stock up on a few magazines to keep me going — and I also buy a sweet little silver notebook and pen to write down everything I spend. I’m going to be really rigorous about this, because David E. Barton says the very act of noting down purchases should have a curtailing effect. So when I get into work, I start my list. Cappuccino £1.50Muffin £1.00Notebook £3.99Pen £1.20Magazines £6.40
Which makes a grand total so far of. . £14.09.
Gosh. I suppose that’s quite a lot, bearing in mind it’s only nine-forty in the morning.
But the notebook and pen don’t count, do they? They’re like course requirements. I mean, how on earth are you supposed to note down all your purchases without a notebook and pen? So I subtract both of those, and now my total comes to. . £8.90. Which is much better.
Anyway, I’m at work now. I probably won’t spend anything else all day.
But somehow, spending nothing is absolutely impossible. First of all, Guy from Accounts comes round with yet another leaving present to give to. Then I have to go out and get some lunch. I’m very restrained with my sandwich — I choose egg and cress, which is the cheapest one at Boots, and I don’t even like egg and cress.
David E. Barton says that when you make a real effort, particularly in the early stages, you should reward yourself — so I pick up some coconut bath oil from the Natural range as a little treat. Then I notice there are double advantage points on the moisturizer I use.
I love advantage points. Aren’t they a wonderful invention? If you spend enough, you can get really good prizes, like a beauty day at a hotel. Last Christmas I was really canny — I let my points build up until I’d accumulated enough to buy my granny’s Christmas present. What happened in fact was, I’d already built up 1,653 points — and I needed 1,800 to buy her a heated roller set. So I bought myself a great big bottle of Samsara perfume, and that gave me 150 extra points on my card — and then I got the heated roller set absolutely free! The only thing is, I don’t much like Samsara perfume — but I didn’t realize that until I got home. Still, never mind.
The clever way to use advantage points — as with all special offers — is to spot the opportunity and use it, because it may not come your way again. So I grab three pots of moisturizer and buy them. Double advantage points! I mean, it’s just free money, isn’t it?
Then I have to get Suze’s birthday present. I’ve actually already bought her a set of aromatherapy oils — but the other day I saw this gorgeous pink angora cardigan in Benetton, and I know she’d love it. I can always take the aromatherapy oils back or give them to someone for Christmas.
So I go into Benetton and pick up the pink cardigan. I’m about to pay. . when I notice they’ve got it in gray as well. The most perfect, soft, dove-gray angora cardigan, with little pearly buttons.
Oh God. You see, the thing is, I’ve been looking for a nice gray cardigan for ages. Honestly, I have. You can ask Suze, my mum, anybody. And the other thing is, I’m not actually on my new frugal regime yet, am I? I’m just monitoring myself.
David E. Barton says I should act as naturally as possible. So really, I ought to act on my natural impulses and buy it. It would be false not to. It would ruin the whole point.
It only costs forty-five quid. And I can put it on VISA.
Look at it another way — what’s forty-five quid in the grand scheme of things? I mean, it’s nothing, is it?
So I buy it. The most perfect little cardigan in the world. People will call me the Girl in the Gray Cardigan. I’ll be able to live in it. Really, it’s an investment.
After lunch, I have to go and visit Image Store to choose a front-cover picture for the next issue. This is my absolute favorite job — I can’t understand why Philip always offloads it onto someone else. It basically means you get to go and sit drinking coffee all afternoon, looking at rows and rows of transparencies.
Because, of course, we don’t have the editorial budget to create our own front covers. God, no. When I first started out in journalism, I thought I’d be able to go to shoots, and meet models, and have a really glamorous time. But we don’t even have a cameraman. All our sorts of magazines use picture libraries like Image Store, and the same images tend to go round and round. There’s a picture of a roaring tiger that’s been on at least three personal finance covers in the last year. Still, the readers don’t mind, do they? They’re not exactly buying the magazines to look at Kate Moss.