“You call this rubbish fun?” retorts my dad incredulously.
“Listen, Dad, actually, could we turn back to—”
“I didn’t say it was fun now. I said—”
“Dad!” I say, trying not to sound too panicky. “Could we just go back to BBC1 for a moment?”
Blind Date disappears and I sigh with relief. The next moment, an earnest man in a suit fills the screen.
“What the police failed to appreciate,” he says in a nasal voice, “is that the witnesses were not sufficiently—”
“Dad!”
“Where’s the television guide?” he says impatiently. “There’s got to be something better than this.”
“There’s the lottery!” I almost scream. “I want to watch the lottery!”
I know strictly speaking that whether I watch it or not won’t affect my chances of winning—but I don’t want to miss the great moment, do I? You might think I’m a bit mad, but I feel that if I watch it, I can kind of communicate with the balls through the screen. I’ll stare hard at them as they get tossed around and silently urge on my winning numbers. It’s a bit like supporting a team. Team 1 6 9 16 23 44.
Except the numbers never come out in order, do they?
Team 44 1 23 6 9 16. Possibly. Or Team 23 6 1 …
Suddenly there’s a round of applause and Martine McCutcheon’s finished her song. Oh my God. It’s about to happen. My life is about to change.
“The lottery’s become terribly commercialized, hasn’t it?” says my mum, as Dale Winton leads Martine over to the red button. “It’s a shame, really.”
“What do you mean, it’s become commercialized?” retorts my dad.
“People used to play the lottery because they wanted to support the charities.”
“No they didn’t! Don’t be ridiculous! No one gives a fig about the charities. This is all about self, self, self.” Dad gestures toward Dale Winton with the remote control and the screen goes dead.
“Dad!” I wail.
“So you think no one cares about the charities?” says my mum into the silence.
“That’s not what I said.”
“Dad! Put it back on!” I screech. “Put-it-back-on!” I’m about to wrestle him for the remote control when he flicks it back on again.
I stare at the screen in utter disbelief. The first ball has already dropped. And it’s 44. My number 44.
“ … last appeared three weeks ago. And here comes the second ball … And it’s number 1.”
I can’t move. It’s taking place, before my very eyes. I’m actually winning the lottery. I’m winning the bloody lottery!
Now that it’s happening, I feel surprisingly calm about it. It’s as if I’ve known, all my life, that this would happen. Sitting here silently on the sofa, I feel as though I’m in a fly-on-the-wall documentary about myself. “Becky Bloomwood always secretly knew she would win the lottery one day. But on the day it happened, even she couldn’t have predicted …”
“And another low one. Number 3.”
What? My mind snaps to and I stare perplexedly at the screen. That can’t be right. They mean 23.
“And number 2, last week’s bonus ball.”
I feel cold all over. What the hell is going on? What are these numbers?
“And another low one! Number 4. A popular number—it’s had twelve appearances so far this year. And finally … number 5! Well, I never! This is a bit of a first! Now, lining them up in order …”
No. This can’t be serious. This has to be a mistake. The winning lottery numbers cannot possibly be 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 44. That’s not a lottery combination, it’s a … it’s an act of torture.
And I was winning. I was winning.
“Look at that!” my mum’s saying. “Absolutely incredible! One-two-three-four-five-forty-four.”
“And why should that be incredible?” replies Dad. “It’s as likely as any other combination.”
“It can’t be!”
“Jane, do you know anything about the laws of probability?”
Quietly I get up and leave the room, as the National Lottery theme tune blares out of the telly. I walk into the kitchen, sit down at the table, and bury my head in my hands. I feel slightly shaky, to tell you the truth. How could I lose? I was living in a big house and going on holiday to Barbados with all my friends, and walking into Agnès b and buying anything I wanted. It felt so real.
And now, instead, I’m sitting in my parents’ kitchen, and I can’t afford to go on holiday and I’ve just spent eighty quid on a wooden bowl I don’t even like.
Miserably, I turn on the kettle, pick up a copy of Woman’s Journal lying on the counter, and flick through it—but even that doesn’t cheer me up. Everything seems to remind me of money. Maybe my dad’s right, I find myself thinking dolefully. Maybe Cut Back is the answer. Suppose … suppose I cut back enough to save sixty quid a week. I’d have £6,000 in a hundred weeks.
And suddenly my brain is alert. Six thousand quid. That’s not bad, is it? And if you think about it, it can’t be that hard to save sixty quid a week. It’s only the same as a couple of meals out. I mean, you’d hardly notice it.
God, yes. That’s what I’ll do. Sixty quid a week, every week. Maybe I’ll even pay it into a special account. That new Lloyds high-yield sixty-day access account with the tiered interest rates. It’ll be fantastic! I’ll be completely on top of my finances—and when I’ve paid off my bills I’ll just keep saving. It’ll become a habit to be frugal. And at the end of every year I’ll splash out on one classic investment like an Armani suit. Or maybe Christian Dior. Something really classy, anyway.
I’ll start on Monday, I think excitedly, spooning chocolate Ovaltine into a cup. What I’ll do is, I just won’t spend anything. All my spare money will mount up, and I’ll be rich. This is going to be so great.
OCTAGON flair … style … vision
FINANCIAL SERVICES DEPARTMENT
8TH FLOOR TOWER HOUSE
LONDON ROAD WINCHESTER S0 44 3DR
Ms. Rebecca Bloomwood Charge Card Number 7854 4567
Flat 2
4 Burney Rd.
London SW6 8FD
2 March 2000
Dear Ms. Bloomwood:
Our records suggest that we have not received payment for your latest Octagon Silver Card bill. If you have paid within the last few days, please ignore this letter.
Your outstanding bill is currently £235.76. The minimum payment is £43.00. You may pay by cash, check, or on the enclosed bank giro credit slip. We look forward to receiving your payment.
Yours sincerely,
John Hunter
Customer Accounts Manager
OCTAGON flair … style … vision
FINANCIAL SERVICES DEPARTMENT
8TH FLOOR TOWER HOUSE
LONDON ROAD WINCHESTER S0 44 3DR
Ms. Rebecca Bloomwood Charge Card Number 7854 4567
Flat 2
4 Burney Rd.
London SW6 8FD
2 March 2000
Dear Ms. Bloomwood:
There’s never been a better time to spend!
For a limited time, we are offering EXTRA POINTS on all purchases over £50 made with your Octagon Silver Card*—so take the opportunity now to add more points to your total and take advantage of some of our Pointholders’ Gifts.
Some of the fantastic gifts we are offering include:
An Italian leather bag 1,000 points
points A case of pink champagne 2,000 points
points Two flights to Paris** 5,000 points
(Your current level is: 35 points)
And remember, during this special offer period, you will gain two points for every £5 spent! We look forward to welcoming you soon to take advantage of this unique offer.
Yours sincerely,
Adrian Smith
Customer Services Manager
*excluding purchases at restaurants, pharmacy, newsstand, and hairdresser
**certain restrictions apply—see enclosed lea
flet
Five
FRUGALITY. SIMPLICITY. These are my new watchwords. A new, uncluttered, Zen-like life, in which I spend nothing. Spend nothing. I mean, when you think about it, how much money do we all waste every day? No wonder I’m in a little bit of debt. And really, it’s not my fault. I’ve merely been succumbing to the Western drag of materialism—which you have to have the strength of elephants to resist. At least, that’s what it says in my new book.
You see, yesterday, when Mum and I went into Waterstone’s to buy her paperback for the week, I sidled off to the self-help section and bought the most wonderful book I’ve ever read. Quite honestly, it’s going to change my life. I’ve got it now, in my bag. It’s called Controlling Your Cash by David E. Barton, and it’s fantastic. What it says is that we can all fritter away money without realizing it, and that most of us could easily cut our cash consumption by half in just one week.
In one week!
You just have to do things like make your own sandwiches instead of eating in restaurants and ride a bike to work instead of taking the tube. When you start thinking about it, you can save money everywhere. And as David E. Barton says, there are lots of free pleasures which we forget because we’re so busy spending money, like parks and museums and the simple joy of a country walk.
Come to think of it, why don’t we put information like this in Successful Saving? It’s so much more useful than knowing about some fancy new unit trust which might make a profit or might not. I mean, with this scheme you start making money straight away!
It’s all so easy and straightforward. And the best thing is, you have to start out by going shopping! The book says you should begin by itemizing every single purchase in a single normal spending day and plot it on a graph. It stresses that you should be honest and not suddenly curtail or alter your spending pattern—which is lucky, because it’s Suze’s birthday on Friday and I’ve got to get her a present.
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 take-away 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
£1.50
Muffin £1.00
Notebook £3.99
Pen £1.20
Magazines £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.
The good thing is that Elly’s editor doesn’t like choosing front covers either—and they use Image Store, too. So we always try to work it that we’ll go together and have a good natter over the pics. Even better, Image Store is all the way over in Notting Hill Gate, so you can legitimately take ages getting there and back. Usually I don’t bother going back to the office. Really, it’s the perfect way t
o spend a weekday afternoon.
I get there before Elly and mutter, “Becky Bloomwood from Successful Saving,” to the girl at reception, wishing I could say “Becky Bloomwood from Vogue” or “Becky Bloomwood from Wall Street Journal.” Then I sit on a squashy black leather chair, flicking through a catalogue of pictures of glossy happy families, until one of the trendy young men who works there comes and leads me to my own illuminated table.
“I’m Paul,” he says, “and I’ll be looking after you today. Do you know what you’re looking for?”
“Well …” I say, and pull out my notebook. We had a meeting about the cover yesterday and eventually decided on “Portfolio Management: Getting the Right Balance.” And before your head falls off with boredom, let me just point out that last month, the cover line was “Deposit Accounts: Put to the Test.”
Why can’t we just once put self-tanning creams to the test instead? Oh well.
“I’m looking for pictures of scales,” I say, reading off my list. “Or tightropes, unicycles …”
“Balancing images,” says Paul. “No problem. Would you like a coffee?”
“Yes, please,” I beam, and relax back in my chair. You see what I mean? It’s so nice here. And I’m being paid to sit in this chair, doing nothing at all.
A few moments later, Elly appears with Paul, and I look at her in surprise. She’s looking really smart, in an aubergine-colored suit and high heels.
“So it’s swimmers, boats, and European images,” says Paul to her.
“That’s it,” says Elly, and sinks into the chair beside me.
“Let me guess,” I say. “Something about floating currencies.”
“Very good,” says Elly. “Actually, it’s ‘Europe: Sink or Swim’?” She says it in an incredibly dramatic voice, and Paul and I both start giggling. When he’s walked away, I look her up and down.
“So how come you’re so smart?”
“I always look smart,” she parries. “You know that.” Paul’s already wheeling trolley-loads of transparencies toward us and she looks over at them. “Are these yours or mine?’