Tab Tries: Being Skint

In years to come, Abba may be revered as the kind of poet-prophets Milton, Bukowski and Wordsworth could only dream of being. Not only did they predict so uncannily the rise of jumpsuits, but their anti-capitalist diatribes predated the likes of The Specials and Crass by a number of years.

This cultural preoccupation with the monetary side of things is once again firmly on the radar. The gloomy spectre of austerity looms large for many, especially under a government which seems determined to rend the benefits system limb from limb. For those of us under the age of 24, the amount we can receive is capped pretty harshly, especially if you aren’t in full-time education and you don’t live with your parents. After subtracting rent (a flatshare in the stinky end of Camden Town) and bills, we worked out that I wouldn’t have much more than a tenner a week spare, so I’ve spent the last 7 days living off that alone. Here’s how it went.

SATURDAY AND SUNDAY

On Saturday I had to go to the supermarket and work out what I could manage to buy to sustain me for the week. For £3.33, I managed to get a couple of jars of sauce and pasta to go with it, as well as a mountain of “Breakfast Wholewheat Biscuits”. Well done me.

EXPENDITURE SO FAR: £3.33

MONDAY

Being as light in the pocket as a comedy urchin meant I had to get rid of my Spotify account. Instead, I listened to some old episodes of Football Weekly on my trek into uni, because that’s all that was on my phone. Forgoing the tube to walk to and from Piccadilly (I had stuff to do there) from my flat was also a bit of a challenge – what I saved in cash money, I more than made up for in shin splints. Even with the Jobcentre Plus discount card, a pound each way would have eaten into my budget a fairly significant amount. Food was my Sunday purchases. I did not enjoy it.

EXPENDITURE SO FAR: £3.33

TUESDAY

Things really began to get rough as it moved towards the middle of the week. There was no brioche, and hardly any Yankee Candles. To cheer myself up, I bought the cheapest sausages Sainsburys’ had to offer, just to make my pasta taste a little less hateful. Unfortunately, I neglected to read the packet, which would have (presumably) outlined to me that my £1.50 had bought 16 meaty cylinders that were half Shergar, half pink smoke. In the evening, one of my flatmates ate some chorizo while I sulked quietly.

EXPENDITURE SO FAR: £4.83

WEDNESDAY

By Wednesday, my insides were feeling mutinous. I began to fear that my stomach might write to his MP to complain. In the afternoon I watched loads of cooking documentaries on Netflix (free trial, natch) to dull the ache. Did you know that El Bulli had 42 chefs per sitting?

EXPENDITURE SO FAR: £4.83

THURSDAY

Last week’s milk was all gone, so I ate my dry pretend Weetabix without any. Given the choice, I probably would have washed them down with antifreeze. Went and bought milk later, but lost the receipt. It probably cost about a pound. Dinner saw me really getting to grips with my sausage pasta recipe – I think tears might be the secret ingredient.

EXPENDITURE SO FAR: £5.83

FRIDAY

As I write, my other arm is elbow-deep in a Chicken Cottage box, my face painted in guilt, shame, and grease. Ludicrously, I’m still under budget, North-West London’s number one poultry emporium only charging me £3 for a box as big as my swollen thyroid. Turns out you can debase yourself for less than it costs to take the Megabus!

EXPENDITURE SO FAR: £8.83

After seven days of scrimping, I’ve still got a pound left, but the experience definitely wasn’t much fun. It would be more than churlish for me to suggest that my brief foray into no-cash land is in any way comparable to the way some people live, but it does begin to indicate just how thin the end of the wedge is; living on two meals a day, for example, is hardly sustainable for people who actually have to get up and go and do stuff. Let’s just all agree to be nice and give money to charity and hug each other.