Here I am, 9 days into ‘no booze, no cheese’ January, which so far has been a riot of healthy eating and healthy living, and what happens? I get sick. This is what comes of being too precipitate in cutting champagne out of my diet. Woman, even vegetarian woman, was not meant to live on vegetables alone, and chickpeas are no substitute for cheese. The plan was that I would be bright of eye and fresh of face, not whey-faced, watery-eyed and sneezing. Oh well, pass the tissues and the meth-making kit, may as well do something with the pseudephedrine while it’s to hand.
Not really. Drugs interest me even less than gambling does and I’d rather clean my bathroom than gamble. I don’t get the whole giving money away thing. I give you my money, and you give me, er, nothing? Oh, you give me the possibility of getting more money than I’ve given you in the first place? Pull the other one, mate, it’s got bells on. Instead, I will give this money to this nice person, who will give me an actual thing in return. That’s what I like to call ‘shopping’.
There is good shopping lined up for the future, because zoesmom and I are planning a little trip to Greenwich. I will be spending some of my freelance money, which, of course, is intended to pay for our summer holiday. Unfortunately, that is months away and it is quite beyond my power to let all that cash sit unattended in a bank account for months at a time. It is as much as I can do not to spend it as soon as the cheque clears. I’m working class, I spend my money as soon as I get it, before Something Goes Wrong and instead of a treat you have to pay to get Something Fixed. I mean, the Something has to be Fixed anyway, treat money or no. So, why spend the treat money on it? Why not get the Something Fixed and still enjoy the treat?
Thus my husband is in charge of our savings accounts. I can access them, but I don’t. Every now and then he tells me how much is in them and I get a little dizzy at the thought of all that money sitting there, uselessly. Although, in my prudent moments, I do like that we have a financial cushion, especially since it’s anyone’s guess what’s going on with our company but it would surprise no one to come to work and find that the company has been resold and now instead of books we make dogfood. Or rather, half of us make dogfood and the rest of us make our way to the exits.
So yes, security is good; but I’d also like to be wearing excellent shoes while teetering to the exit, and consoling myself with champagne when I get home.