Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle (8 page)

“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.

F
RUGALITY. 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.

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.