My New Year’s resolution is one I doubt I share with many.
My main goal for 2020 is a far cry from the sweaty-smiled fitness regimes I’m bombarded by online.
I’m not taking up a new hobby, learning a new language or Insta-ready skill like calligraphy or flower arranging or stone polishing or whatever it is people do to pretend they’re not just trapped in hell, tumbling towards oblivion as the world burns. (Seriously though, you do you, be the best you can be, you can’t spell ‘impossible’ without ‘I’m possible’, etc etc).
In spite of, and perhaps in response to, some seriously catastrophic financial decisions I made in earlier life, over the years I have become increasingly obsessed with the smallest financial decisions.
Somewhere along the way my subconscious decided it could undo the damage of a gambling addiction by getting petrol from Theale Sainsburys on the A4 instead of paying motorway prices at Reading Services Eastbound. However, this common sense approach to economising (128.9p per litre vs 149.9p per litre at time of going to press), has now morphed into something bordering on debilitating.
And so, for 2020, I’m going to economise less.
Don’t get me wrong, I still think Martin Lewis should immediately be parachuted into the Royal Family to replace Prince Harry. On the one hand it would give Hazza that much needed rest, but would also justly reward the Arch Duke of Consumer Rights, the Viscount of Value, by repaying his undying service with a bigger platform to spread his message, a security detail to protect our most treasured campaigner, and cement his place in the commonwealth with the sixth-in-line-to-the-thronedom he deserves.
I will still subscribe not just to Martin’s philosophy, but his weekly newsletter. But I’m not going to take 48 hours to buy a coat hook. He wouldn’t want that.
Let me explain.
Before we get to coat-hook-gate, my Damascene moment, a brief illustration of how bad things have got.
I knew I was in trouble when I went without using my dishwasher for two weeks during an unseasonably long drought of dishwasher tablet offers
My fiancée is a perfect ‘financial control group’ against which to measure my obsession. I often remind her of this, and if she ever forgets her true value to me she need only read the inscription on her engagement ring: ‘You are a perfect financial control group, cheers, J x’.
Take the weekly shop, for example. After a few months together my tactical approach to supermarkets was thrown into stark relief. The first revelation was that I have a ‘tactical approach to supermarkets’.
She is not profligate nor penny-pinching, wasteful nor frugal, neither spendthrift nor thrifty. (Apparently those two words have opposite meanings, something I discovered two minutes ago and has blown my mind). For example, if she needs ketchup she will buy the ketchup she likes, in the quantity she needs. The whole process will take between two to five seconds. This approach is entirely new to me.
Let me take you through what happens if I need ketchup.
Firstly, before we leave the house, do I actually need ketchup? Might I be able to use a knife or small spoon to get another serving out of my current ketchup? If not, do I have any hoarded ketchup sachets, snaffled from any number of Prets, service stations, cafes, approaching their use by date that I could use to maximise value, or, in the event that ketchup isn’t on offer at the supermarket, tide me over until it is?
No? OK, we’re hitting the supermarket. First off I might use MySupermarket.com to see if ketchup is on offer in any supermarkets further afield, before weighing up the petrol spent on the journey to the total ketchup saving – let’s call this the ‘Petrol Used vs Value Gained Ratio’.
I won’t check prices in my usual supermarket though, oh no, that would ruin the surprise! I can always walk back empty-handed and get in the car, I’ve lost nothing and gained a lovely walk!
Upon entering the supermarket, I skirt the condiment aisle. ‘Not yet old foe… not yet’ I might say in my head or accidentally out loud in front of a security guard, who whispers into his collar and walks to the CCTV station (no doubt a fellow bargain hunter wanting to get a closer look at my strategy).
When I can bear the anticipation no longer, I make my move. My eyes dart hither and thither looking for the divine yellow flash of special offer stickers. I will feast on the range, devour the choice, savour the savings.
Once I’ve established that there are offers to be had (and there always are), I will step back, take a breath, and begin a more logical, detailed approach.
Over the next few minutes I will weigh up any number of variables, including, but not limited to, price per milliletre or price per gram comparison, the economy of scale question (big bottle vs smaller bottle on offer) and the Own Brand Value to Named Brand Taste Quotient (where any flavour premium of a named brand is weighed up against the financial saving of the own brand). In some cases always go named or go without – Diet Coke, Cup-A-Soup, and hot sauce being good examples as their taste premium outweighs the potential saving of ‘going own’ – but only if they’re on offer. I’m not a complete idiot!
After maybe five to six minutes, I’m usually almost ready to make my choice. I’ll place the lucky ketchup in the basket, just to see how it feels, before finally purchasing it or going back for further analysis.
In this time, I’ll scout around to see if non-perishable items that I don’t need but always use might be on offer: tea, coffee, Cup-A-Soup, soy sauce (from the World Food section not the Chinese Food section, the bottles are bigger and way cheaper, same with Jamaican hot sauce – like I said, I’m not an idiot).
But alas, dear reader, the time has come to admit that I may, potentially, be that idiot. All too often my fiancée stares at me dumbfounded and says, ‘John, it’s getting dark just pick one you mad bastard!’ or, ‘Why are there eight boxes of Cup-A-Soup in the cupboard?!’.
I knew I was in trouble when I went without using my dishwasher for two weeks during an unseasonably long drought of dishwasher tablet offers across the main supermarkets.
My need to economise is out of control.
And then – well, then there was the coat hook.
My long-suffering fiancée bought me a lovely coat for Christmas and I needed somewhere to hang it. I’ll be honest, I googled coat hooks for way too long. I established the kind of thing I wanted, and decided to walk to a shop about half an hour away that does that kind of thing.
Upon entering, I saw they had not only exactly what I needed, but a small selection of similar coat hooks. Uh oh! Choice: my Kryptonite. I must have browsed the five or six different types of coat hook for 15 minutes. That’s actually quite a long time to look at half a dozen coat hooks.
Eventually I went with my gut: that first coat hook I saw that was just perfect, right size, right shape, and at £6.95 very reasonably priced. So I picked it up, then put it back down, thanked the shopkeeper and walked home.
I just couldn’t do it. I panicked. My value-seeking, price-comparing, option-weighing, sweet-spot-searching brain couldn’t go though with it. I just couldn’t block out the noise in my head.
‘What if you regret buying it? What if you find a better one tomorrow? Does it look too new? If only it was a cross between this one and the black one! Oh come on John, it’s just a coat hook! It will be covered in coats! What if I mess it all up? What about the fourth one you goggled? Might that be better? Will I need a drill? What if I buy a drill and only use it to put up one coat hook?! I should go back and google drills! Or at least secure a drill before rushing headlong into coat hook ownership! The guy behind the counter is looking at me! It was always a big ask to buy a coat hook John! Let’s go and regroup. Say you’re on a fact-finding mission and go!’
And so I did just that. I said to an actual man, who owns an actual shop, that I was on ‘a coat hook fact-finding mission’ and left. I walked half an hour home, googled drills for ages, thought about coat hooks for two days, then plucked up all my courage and returned to buy the first coat hook I’d seen. Forty eight hours for a £6.95 coat hook.
I’m sorry Martin Lewis. I do love you. But this has to end.
It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have foreseen this, you’re just trying to help people save a few quid. You weren’t to know I was going to think about coat hooks for two days.
I’ll still switch energy provider once a year. I’ll still pay off my credit card in full every month. But from now on, I’m just going to buy the goddamn ketchup I need. When it’s cold I’m going to leave the heating on all night. I’m even going to stop at the petrol station that’s on my route!
Unless it’s on a motorway, of course. Small steps.
MORE: Gamblers Anonymous saved my life
MORE: My GP told me to ‘get my f***ing act together’
MORE: I fantasise about living in budget hotels, so being a comedian is perfect for me
source https://metro.co.uk/2020/01/16/martin-lewis-saving-money-obsession-12062288/
0 Comments