There are times in life when I feel like I have slipped into a parallel universe. Sometimes it’s sparked by realising I don’t know who famous people are anymore (PewDiePie? Tate McRae? Louis Partridge? Sorry, no idea). Often it’s when I read the news, and wonder how we ended up with some of the worst men imaginable having access to the nuclear codes. And at other times, it’s when I realise just how much money I’ve managed to spend on a fairly average day.
I don’t think of myself as a particularly extravagant person. Unable to justify the exorbitant expense, I never even flirted with the idea of obtaining Oasis or Taylor Swift gig tickets. Holidays are usually cobbled together from the cheapest train fares available and accommodation consisting of mates’ spare rooms or reasonably priced Airbnbs. I don’t own a car, designer clothes or any expensive jewellery. The one time a former housemate and I had our flat robbed, the burglars stole precisely nothing from my room. Which was, on reflection, mildly insulting.
Yet my day-to-day expenditure seems to spiral ever upwards, especially when it comes to life’s little extravagances. The birth of the £15 salad has made lunches al desko less of a last-minute necessity and more of a remortgaging-your-house type investment. A casual dinner out with the girls seems to have more than doubled to a £50 minimum spend. I recently decided to be “good”, trading the usual glass of wine for a kombucha at the pub – only to be punished with a £7.50 bill.
It’s not just me feeling the pinch. Cost-of-living pressures are only getting further exacerbated as international conflicts lead to escalating oil and energy prices. Though there had been a notable downturn in food inflation in January, the dip reversed and UK grocery inflation edged back up to 4.3 per cent in the four weeks to 22 February, reports The Independent’s food and drink editor, Hannah Twiggs.
I decided the only way to fight back was to see if I could slash my own outgoings for a month. I would still have to pay for utilities, public transport and food from the supermarket, of course – no need to go all Jean Valjean and flush my life down the toilet for the sake of a loaf of bread – but when it came to extracurriculars and unnecessary expenditure, I would aim to be as frugal as possible.
Week one
Things get off to a strong start. Similar to the beginning of a new diet, I’m full of hope and determination at this stage, poised for prudent success. I batch-cook – twice – something that had dropped out of the routine and been replaced by expensive grab-and-go lunches. I grow a little taller at the thought of the hit to Pret’s takings as I fill tupperware after tupperware with healthy grains and vegetables.
This easy win is satisfying enough to propel me through a week populated by the word “no”: I refrain from buying a coffee at the station while waiting for my train; manage to go into an M&S Food with a friend and emerge without picking up a cocktail in a can and packet of Percy Pigs; and do a pilates video at home instead of paying the usual £20 for a bougie studio class in central London.
I’m not prepared to fully relinquish my social life in the name of becoming a skinflint; luckily, the rain makes going into the outside world a deeply unappealing prospect. I convince a friend to have me round for dinner instead of going out (though this does require the purchase of supermarket flowers – turning up empty-handed being too outrageously rude to even consider). Another friend is moving house, and I successfully lobby to spend the evening helping her pack instead of totting up a gargantuan tab at our local wine bar. Win!
Week two
I lean into the activities available to me that don’t cost extra. My membership to a local community sauna has never felt such good value: £95 for the whole year, with no additional charge on top. You can go as much as you like, and I do, combining frequent visits with runs along the coastal path and dips in the sea (both also mercifully free).
The batch-cooking continues, and one evening I decide to take my time over a new recipe and treat myself to a solo night in, with dinner by candlelight followed by catching up on The Night Manager.
The rest of the week sees me head to a mate’s house for a roast and jump at the chance to take a friend’s set of weights she’d planned on chucking to facilitate more at-home workouts.
However, the week also brings Valentine’s Day. Much as I’d like to be cynical and roll my eyes at the very idea of celebrating romance, I’m four months into a new relationship – right in the staring-gooily-into-each-other’s-eyes sweet spot. I can’t bring myself to suggest we sack off marking our first V-Day together, and so I throw the rules out for an evening in the name of true love. We go to a friend’s supper club event and finish the night with devastatingly strong cocktails at a speakeasy bar. Je ne regrette rien.
Week three
My Bluetooth headphones break and I go to replace them as I normally would – immediately, thoughtlessly, with zero appreciation of what a huge privilege it is to have the funds to solve problems at the touch of a button. But I stop myself; this, technically, is more luxury item than vital purchase. I won’t be able to listen to music as I stomp between my house and town, or stream the latest Netflix garbage via my phone while on the train? So be it. It feels like the most first-world of first-world problems.
There is an unexpectedly lovely silver lining. For the first time in a long time, I feel present as I move through the world. One morning, when the sun is miraculously shimmering through hazy mist, I walk past a shoal of gilded daffodils, hear the chirrup of birdsong, and find my cheeks are wet with tears as my heart swells from the pure joy of it all. I would have missed this, I think. I would have walked right past it.
For half of my week, the no-spend challenge is particularly easy to stick to: I’ve booked a few days’ silent retreat at an abbey. There’s no charge for stays (though donations are welcome) and, with nothing to do but think, pray and read, my expenditure is as saintly as the nuns themselves.
When I return home to the real world, however, keeping it up becomes significantly trickier. A friend’s birthday on Friday has me shelling out for a musical bingo ticket; another friend’s anniversary party on Sunday results in me buying two drinks. I’ve realised just how strange and antisocial it really feels to turn up to a social event and sit there nursing a tap water – not to mention borderline disrespectful if it’s an independent local pub struggling to break even…
Week four
The more you slip up, the easier it is to slip up, it seems. Once I allow myself to cheat a little under the guise of not becoming a social pariah, it’s like I’ve broken the seal. I can’t seem to stop myself from wantonly wafting my credit card every time I leave the house.
I get invited to an early birthday lunch; a pre-theatre set-menu dinner; an all-afternoon pub crawl. I have always been much more comfortable with “yes” than “no”, and consequently end the month having succumbed to financial incontinence and feeling like a failure.
And yet, despite cracking as easily as an egg, my 28-day attempt at no-spend life did have a subtle yet profound impact. The likes of Amazon have made shopping so frictionless that it’s easy to forget you’ve spent any money at all. Before every frivolous impulse purchase, I now find myself questioning whether I really need whatever it is. Couldn’t I do without that new skirt? That cinnamon bun? That extra glass of wine? Couldn’t I stick a couple of potato waffles in the toaster rather than order a Domino’s when I’m tired and peckish? Mightn’t I ask a friend to help with putting up that mirror instead of hiring a handyman? After a lifetime of throwing money at the situation, this feels quietly revolutionary.
Scores on the doors: when I compare January and February’s extracurricular outgoings, I’ve cut my spending by more than a third. Far from perfect, but a saving of several hundred pounds – enough to galvanise my tentative desire to cultivate a thriftier mindset. If the best things in life really are free, maybe it’s time to start making the most of them.
