My income now being one third of what it was this time last year, certain economies of scale have been forced upon me. No buying of lovely clothes, for example. No holidays. A tragically curtailed social life. I am not yet reduced to cutting my hair with the kitchen scissors, but I have sharpened them in anticipation.
I have, however, become a food-buying ninja. Goodbye Waitrose, a supermarket where I used to pop in for a yoghurt and somehow come out clutching a small carrier bag, the contents of which had cost me at least £50, and hello Lidl. Lidl is a discount supermarket chain and a new branch opened recently in the town next to ours.
It is a small store and there is none of that "eye level is buy level" nonsense, just tons of stuff piled up all over the place. No deli counter. No bakery. None of that 20 different kinds of olive oil schtick either. Instead, there are many, many cannned goods. Lidl's awfully fond of cans. And now so am I. My cupboards are so full of cans that they look as though I am hoarding for the outbreak of a war.
Shopping there is a little like shopping when on holiday. You don't recognise the names on the packaging but instead use the pictures as your guide. For some inexplicable reason I am absurdly comforted by the sight of familiar goods. "Ooh, look," I say to my teenage daughter who has been roped into the supermarket trip of doom and is bored stiff, "They've got tuna fish!"
The atmosphere in-store is similar to that which is prevalent at 5.25pm on Christmas Eve. People happily crash their trollies into mine, lean over me to reach for something without saying "excuse me" and tut loudly when I linger too long in front of the cold meats section, unable to make my mind up between the Danish or German salami, both varieties of which are an unfeasible neon pink. Against my better judgement, I am drawn towards a gathering crowd (Kidney beans! 14p a can!) and shove six cans into my daughter's reluctant hands, who is blissfully unaware that this means we will be eating nothing but chilli for the foreseeable future.
I wasn't quite prepared for the extreme briskness of the checkout procedure either. The assistant hurled everything past the scanner and back into my trolley (boop boop boop boop boop boop) with the honed skill of a woman who was hating every second of her shift and didn't give a toss who knew it. Packing your bags at the checkout is a big no-no, lest you hold up the Dwain Chambers-like speed of the stoney-faced hammer thrower.
Back home, some of my purchases turned out to be the foolishly impulsive sort. "I'll make houmous!" I declared brightly, confronted with a towering edifice of tinned chick peas. There was so much of the damned stuff I could have filled a couple of buckets, if it hadn't had the consistency - and sticking power - of tile grout.
I like Lidl though. The food, although I have made fun of it, is pretty decent and it is certainly cheaper there than at Waitrose. I like cooking (apart from the houmous disaster and I'm pretty bored with chilli.) I shall continue to shop there. Stick with me. There's more thrifty shopping tips to come.
