‘See the week before your holidays,’ said an acquaintance of mine in Sainsbury’s, ‘you spend a bloody fortune.’ On he trudged with an overloaded basket and a desultory air. But he was quite right; what is it about the holidays that compels us to shop?
It’s all The Guardian’s fault, of course, not my own feckless, incorrigible self. I’m very suggestible. When a beauty writer recommends a £35 deodorant I feel the urge to give it a go. This is ridiculous, since normally I apply a hasty slick of LSB’s L’Oreal Men Expert and go about my day. I turned to this after a dreadful experience with a popular refillable product. Despite its carbon neutral credentials and sleek refillable container, it brought my underarms out in a rash so feverish it could have rivalled a medieval plague victim. All this played out in my head as my hand hovered over the ‘Buy Now’ button, but common sense prevailed (or rather, I thought how many chilled glasses of Vino Verde I could enjoy for the same amount.) It’s still in my basket should I change my mind.
I indulged in a bit of light psychology, wondering why I feel the need to splurge, when my inner self, the one I want to cultivate, rails against all this trumpery. It’s all about transformation. I have a vision of how I want to appear which rarely aligns with reality: photographic evidence from last July revealed a silhouette as svelte and smooth as a crudely-stuffed sock puppet. No amount of pricey exfoliator, hair serum or gel pedicures is going to fix that picture.
But luxury items aside, going away does necessitate more mundane purchases: the sun cream, the insect repellent, the travel adapters, (since we like to leave ours in hotel rooms for the convenience of the next guests.) After rendering ourselves broke for three consecutive summers, I decided to take charge of the situation. ‘Before we go away we are doing AN AUDIT’ I declared, generating a frosty reply from my mild-mannered husband. ‘F**k that,’ he said, ‘The word audit does not belong in the same sentence as holiday!’ Jeepers, he was exercised by this. He gets irked by my notions of thriftiness sometimes, but I hate squandering money willy-nilly. Airport food, for example. It’s always over-priced, and substandard to boot. So when we went to Morocco I packed sandwiches, fruit and juice boxes. ‘We shall have an airport picnic!’ I said, attempting to inject fun into proceedings. Spoiler alert- it wasn’t. A shortage of seats due to ongoing renovations at Aldergrove resulted in us sitting in a dark corridor, chowing down a day-old baguette serenaded by the dulcet tones of a pneumatic drill. ‘I’m getting for a pint,’ said LSB, dropping his sandwich into the bin as he went.
I am not deterred though. We leave next week for a trip to Spain and I have ferreted out all our sun-lotions and turns out we have plenty. Ferreting through some drawers I found two lip salves with SPF and a travel adaptor I thought we’d lost. Rootling round the hot press I found a linen throw for the beach, buried under towels and duvets. Yes, I’d like a new belt for a frock I bought at @anitalouiseross pop-up on the Ormeau Road, but I’ll check out the charity shops. I can save money- I can reduce clutter- well, I’ll post an update in September and let you decide…