1st September
I’m sitting down with my accountant who looks suspiciously like me but wears glasses and uses the calculator on their iPhone. Wait, it is me.
My accountant asks why it is, if I’m 34, I still act like September is the start of a new school year that will somehow magically ‘fix’ all my childish summertime overspending?
She argues that my ‘nothing counts til September’ attitude has wreaked irreparable damage on my accounts, damage that won’t get remedied by the mere fact it’s autumn.
She pronounces me bankrupt. I cry. She feels bad. She estimates, via her iPhone calculator, that I may begin to claw myself out of this post-summer financial crisis if I sit very still in my flat for eight weeks and live off everything in my freezer, yes – even that really weird thing.
I shall eat that weird thing and I shall balance my books, I promise her.
2nd September
Day one of living within my means. I do not buy an oat flat white, I plunge a coffee in a cafetiere. Oh, she is a thrifty young woman.
3rd September
Day two of living within my means. I do not buy a pot of pre-boiled eggs from Pret. I boil some in a pan. So, this is what it is to live off one’s land.
4th September
Day three of living within my means. I do not have my keys and lock myself out of my own flat and must spend £320 to get back into it. + VAT.
No amount of eating that weird thing in the freezer will balance this expense. I don’t want to speak to my accountant — she will just panic me more — so I call the guy I’ve started dating, to sob. I realise immediately this behaviour is… too soon.
Luckily, the locksmith interrupts the call by shouting at me about how difficult my lock is to pick: I’ll have to charge you more to break it! I would normally think I’m being conned but he is a dangerous shade of beetroot and covered in sweat from his attempts and I need to get back into my flat before he dies. Extra 120. Fine. + VAT. Fine.
16th September
It’s a day out in Hastings with friends. A treat for all the locking myself out. Well, isn’t this what life is all about? What’s that mastercard advert? Seeing old friends… priceless. Train ticket to Hastings, paella by the sea, pints at the pub, cakes you like the look of… quite a lot of money, actually.
We swim in the sea and that’s fun and free. But then I swallow some sea and remember the scandal about untreated sewage being pumped into our waters so I run back up the shore to google “bum parasites” and “St Leonard’s”. Free isn’t necessarily better and I must remind my accountant of that.
20th September
My toilet breaks. Plumber can’t be here for a few days, so I’ve got no toilet and a potential bum parasite that could reveal itself at any moment.
22nd September
The problem with not having a toilet is… you literally need the toilet and don’t have a toilet.
I ring up that man I’ve started dating again to see if I can use his, which I know even before dialling is too soon but when a plastic bag begins to tempt you as a viable loo substitute, you must take action.
24th September
Wake late, flustered. I’m meant to be somewhere. A three year old’s birthday party. Now? Yes, now. Must have coffee. No time to plunge money-saving-cafetiere, will have to buy!
Get on bus. Spill coffee over bus. Whisper ‘f*ck’ and ‘c*nt’ and ‘sh*t’. Fail to whisper ‘I’m s*rry’ which is probably the only set of words that could redeem my reputation with the passengers, who now have to jump over a puddle of oat flat white every time the bus moves (which is a lot).
Arrive at party and, while I’ve managed to get here in semi-clean clothes, I’ve left any ability to small talk back at home. What have I been up to. Can I just talk about my toilet breaking for three hours and then leave?
I have a date with that guy so I bid my farewells. It’s strange he’s still willing to see me but maybe he’d rather dump me in public for fear I’ll move into his toilet and he won’t be able to get rid of me. I’m just thinking this as I check my bag to find that I’ve lost my wallet. Wonderful.
By the time I meet the man, I’ve been on hold for 35 minutes to my bank. The hold robot said I’d either be on hold for 19 or 90 minutes, didn’t quite catch it. The latter looking increasingly likely and obviously not preferable but the thing is it’s very hard to hang up on the robot once you’ve invested as much time as I have.
It’s my date or the robot. I choose both and we spend the evening chatting to the tinny jazz of hold music. They never do pick up. But I fill our time with so much admin he has no chance of dumping me.
25th September
New toilet, new me. But less money, less pride. Yes, the school year has been off to a bumpy start but apparently mercury has been in retrograde, which is great as I won’t have to take any responsibility for any of this.
"Oh she is a thrifty young woman" I now think every single day since I read this post, as I plunge my spenny little special ground coffee through the Aeropress I hunted down online at above market value because I wanted a specific one.
Add the criminally extortionate price of barista coffees to the list of reasons why you shouldn't take any responsibility for this.