Honestly, paying off those debts was the most wonderful, exhilarating feeling in the world. It was a few months ago now — but I still feel high as I think about it. There’s really nothing to beat being completely and utterly financially solvent, is there?

And just look at me now. I’m a completely different person from the old Becky. I’m a reformed character. I haven’t even got an overdraft!

Two


WELL, OK. I have got a bit of an overdraft. But the only reason is, I’ve been taking the long view recently, and investing quite heavily in my career. Luke, my boyfriend, is an entrepreneur. He’s got his own financial PR company and everything. And he said something a few weeks ago which really made sense to me: “People who want to make a million borrow a million first.”

Honestly, I must have a naturally entrepreneurial mind or something, because as soon as he said it, I felt this amazing chord of recognition. I even found myself murmuring it aloud. He’s so right. How can you expect to make any money if you don’t spend it first?

So I’ve invested in quite a few outfits to wear on television — plus a few good haircuts, and quite a few manicures and facials. And a couple of massages. Because everyone knows you can’t perform well if you’re all stressed.

I’ve also invested in a new computer, which cost £2,000—but is an essential item because guess what? I’m writing a self-help book! Just after I’d become a regular on Morning Coffee, I met these really nice publishers, who took me out to lunch and said I was an inspiration to financially challenged people everywhere. Wasn’t that nice? They paid me £1,000 before I’d even written a word — and I get a lot more when it’s actually published. The book’s going to be called Becky Bloomwood’s Guide to Money. Or possibly Manage Money the Becky Bloomwood Way.

I haven’t quite had time to start writing it yet, but I really think the most important thing is to get the title right, and then the rest will just fall into place. And I’ve already jotted down loads of ideas about what to wear in the author photograph.

So basically, it’s no surprise that I’m a little overdrawn at the moment. But the point is, all that money is out there, working for me. And luckily my bank manager, Derek Smeath, is very sympathetic to my needs. He’s a real sweetie, actually. For a long time we didn’t get on at all — which I think was more a communications problem than anything else. But then we met up and had a nice long chat (plus I gave him some advice on what to buy his wife for Christmas) and now I really think he understands where I’m coming from. And the truth is, of course, I’m a lot more sensible than I used to be.

For example, I have a completely different attitude toward shopping. My new motto is “Buy Only What You Need.” I know, it sounds almost too simple — but it really does work. Before each purchase, I ask myself one question: “Do I need this?” And only if the answer is yes do I make the purchase. It’s all just a matter of self-discipline.

So, for example, when I get to LK Bennett, I’m incredibly focused and direct. As I walk in, a pair of high-heeled red boots catches my eye — but I quickly look away and head straight for the display of sandals. This is how I shop these days: no pausing, no browsing, no eyeing up other items. Not even that gorgeous new range of sequined pumps over there. I simply go straight to the sandals I want, take them from the rack, and say to the assistant, “I’d like to have these in a six, please.”

Direct and to the point. Just buy what you need and nothing else. This is the key to controlled shopping. I’m not even going to glance at those cool pink stilettos, even though they’d match my new pink denim skirt perfectly.

Nor those slingbacks with the glittery heels.

They are nice though, aren’t they? I wonder what they look like on?

Oh God. This is really hard.

What is it about shoes? I mean, I like most kinds of clothes, but a good pair of shoes can just reduce me to jelly. Sometimes, when Suze isn’t at home, I open my wardrobe and just stare at all my pairs of shoes, like some mad collector. And once I lined them all up on my bed and took a photograph of them. Which might seem a bit weird — but I thought, I’ve got loads of photos of people I don’t really like, so why not take one of something I really love?

“Here you are!”

Thank goodness, the assistant is back, with my lilac sandals in a box — and as I see them, my heart leaps. Oh, these are gorgeous. Gorgeous. All delicate and strappy, with a tiny little blackberry by the toe. I fell in love with them as soon as I saw them. They’re a bit expensive — but then, everyone knows you should never skimp on shoes, because you’ll hurt your feet.

I slip my feet into them with a frisson of delight — and they’re just fantastic. My feet suddenly look elegant, and my legs look longer… and OK, it’s a tiny bit difficult to walk in them, but that’s probably because the shop floor is all slippery.

“I’ll take them, please,” I say, and beam happily at the assistant.

You see, this is the reward for taking such a controlled approach to shopping. When you buy something, you really feel as though you’ve earned it.

We both head toward the checkout, and I keep my eyes carefully away from the rack of accessories. In fact, I barely even notice that purple bag with the jet beading. And I’m just reaching for my wallet, congratulating myself on being so single-minded, when the assistant says conversationally, “You know, we’ve got these sandals in clementine, as well.”

Clementine?

“Oh… right,” I say after a pause.

I’m not interested. I’ve got what I came in to buy — and that’s the end of the story. Lilac sandals. Not clementine.

“They’ve just come in,” she adds, rooting around on the floor. “I think they’re going to be even more popular than the lilac.”

“Really?” I say, trying to sound as indifferent as I can. “Well, I’ll just take these, I think…”

“Here it is!” she exclaims. “I knew there was one around here somewhere…”

And I freeze, as she puts the most exquisite sandal I’ve ever seen onto the counter. It’s a pale, creamy orange color, with the same strappy shape as the lilac one — but instead of the blackberry, there’s a tiny clementine by the toe.

It’s instant love. I can’t move my eyes away.

“Would you like to try it?” says the girl, and I feel a lurch of desire, right to the pit of my stomach.

Just look at it. It’s delicious. It’s the most darling shoe I’ve ever seen. Oh God.

But I don’t need a pair of clementine shoes. I don’t need them.

Come on, Becky. Just. Say. No.

“Actually…” I swallow hard, trying to get control of my voice. “Actually…” I can hardly say it. “I’ll just take the lilac ones today,” I manage eventually. “Thank you.”

“OK…” The girl punches a code into the till. “That’ll be £89, then. How would you like to pay?”

“Er… VISA, please,” I say. I sign the slip, take my bag, and leave the shop, feeling slightly numb.

I did it! I did it! I completely controlled my desires! I only needed one pair of shoes — and I only bought one. In and out of the shop, completely according to plan. You see, this is what I can do when I really want to. This is the new Becky Bloomwood.


Having been so good, I deserve a little reward, so I go to a coffee shop and sit down outside in the sun with a cappuccino.

I want those clementine shoes, pops into my head as I take the first sip.

Stop. Stop it. Think about… something else. Luke. The holiday. Our first ever holiday together. God, I can’t wait.

I’ve been wanting to suggest a holiday ever since Luke and I started going out, but he works so hard, it would be like asking the prime minister to give up running the country for a bit. (Except come to think of it, he does that every summer, doesn’t he? So why can’t Luke?)

Luke’s so busy, he hasn’t even met my parents yet, which I’m a bit upset about. They asked him over for Sunday lunch a few weeks ago, and Mum spent ages cooking — or at least, she bought apricot-stuffed loin of pork from Sainsbury’s and a really posh chocolate meringue pudding. But at the last minute he had to cancel because there was a crisis with one of his clients in the Sunday papers. So I had to go on my own — and it was all rather miserable, to be honest. You could tell Mum was really disappointed, but she kept saying brightly, “Oh well, it was only a casual arrangement,” which it wasn’t. He sent her a huge bouquet of flowers the next day to apologize (or at least, Mel, his assistant, did), but it’s not the same, is it?

The worst bit was that our next-door neighbors, Janice and Martin, popped in for a glass of sherry “to meet the famous Luke,” as they put it, and when they found out he wasn’t there, they kept giving me all these pitying looks tinged with smugness, because their son Tom is getting married to his girlfriend Lucy next week. And I have a horrible suspicion that they think I have a crush on him. (Which I don’t — in fact, quite the reverse. I actually turned him down when we were teenagers. But once people believe something like that, it’s completely impossible to convince them otherwise. Hideous.)

When I got upset with Luke, he pointed out that I’ve never met his parents, either. But I have once — although very briefly. And anyway it’s not the same thing, because his family lives miles away, and it’s all much more complicated.

To be honest, I find Luke’s family setup just a tad weird. He’s got a dad and a stepmum in Britain who brought him up with his two half-sisters, and whom he calls Mum and Dad. And then he’s got his real mum, Elinor, who left his dad when he was little, married some rich American, and left Luke behind. Then she left the rich American and married another, even richer American and then… was there another one? Anyway, the point is, she lives in New York. So of course I haven’t met her. And the rest of his family is in Devon, not exactly handy for a quick Sunday lunch.