Dear Diary....

31 December: I have made a decision, a resolution, in fact. The time is come. This is the year. I am going to give up (all this extravagant?) living and buy my own house. This includes Netflix-gazing, coffee-drinking and hair washing, you know, all of those things that we DON’T REALLY NEED. This will save a fortune. I’ve told my friends to try this too.
21 January: Good news. Money has been pouring into my bank account. I have saved £25.71 since the beginning of the year. Bad news. My boss has given me notice. Sales have fallen since January 1. “Don’t people drink our exotic coffees any more?” she wails. “We can’t sustain the marketing department - I am sorry. You will have to go.”
I am sad, but I see this as AN OPPORTUNITY.
1 February: I have removed from the Big Smoke to a TINY VILLAGE. But living there was draining all of my resources and anyway, I was fed up of all of that urban posturing and pretentiousness. No one here will notice that my hair isn’t washed. And even though I don’t have a job, that £25.71 will go a long way towards keeping me until I find one.
6 February: It does: at Ye Little Olde Village Shoppe, I spend it all on a stick of artisan bread and a jar of exotic pasta sauce. But why be down? The man in the shop is friendly and good-looking. Like me, he is down from London. “Came down a year ago,” he says. “Trying to save money. Want to buy my own house. But I am not lonely. I know five hundred other people here like us, trying to buy a house. Half the village population, by the way. Oddly, house prices have soared here since. My advice: wash your hair, else you won’t find a job. And don’t stop buying artisan bread sticks or exotic pasta sauce. Else, I will be out of a job.” (to be continued)