Right about now, our renovation project is scarily daunting for two very significant reasons:
1) There is sh#t loads to do and f@#K all spare time to do it in.
2) We have no money.
Ok, we have a bit. There is some in savings, but as we all know, if you start spending it, POOF! Like the girl on the train, it will be gone.
And so, we are trying to manage with what is kicking about in the current accounts and that, quite frankly, isn’t going too well.
It’s the council’s fault.
After the big pit was dug, a nice chap came around from Building Control. He chatted with Big Seymour about the excavations for approximately fourteen and a half minutes. That was nerve-wracking in itself, because such people have a lot of power. As it was, he thought up a novel new way for us to throw money into the ground, when he said he’d also like to see drainage pipes installed half way down the garden. I bet he would.
Anyway, pipes and pea shingle were ordered at haste, and delivered with a smile by Grandma and Grandad Seymour, who are something a little bit like Bonnie and Clyde, only a bit less “gangsta”. They often find themselves unwittingly doing errands for Big Seymour, which result in some kind of mini disaster. In this case, plastic pipes escaped from the trailer and cascaded onto the A281 on their way to the Funny Little Bungalow, making Big Seymour rather unpopular with Grandad Seymour, who would rather have been tinkering with his 1930s Morris than scrabbling about on a busy ‘A’ road retrieving pipes.
But the council must be kept happy. And when, a week after their visit, I received a bill for £660 from said council for said visit, I nearly cried. I had forgotten about that bit. I don’t remember site visits costing that much when we renovated our last funny bungalow. But the bill had to be paid, and that is why, this month, the Four Little Seymours will be “eating up what’s in the cupboard”.
There will be no Tesco man this week. He has not been summoned. We will use stuff up.
When I told the Four Little Seymours this, they misunderstood me. They reached for the biscuit tin and began to consume the contents all in one go, until I had to explain that “eating up what is in the cupboard” is supposed to be a way of making food last longer and avoiding buying more just yet, rather than ploughing one’s way through all the remaining food as fast as you can. I explained that we didn’t want to waste money by filling up the freezer when there was plenty in there that we should really be eating, rather than moving it around each week to fit more in. They seemed to get it in the end. I tried to put it into perspective by rolling out the old faithful “we won’t starve” mantra, but their faces betrayed a touch of fear nonetheless.
Optimism is again the stance we are adopting. The fruit bowl is full. Of hard pears from next door’s tree.
The cereal cupboard is still bursting at the seams. With bland cardboard mank flakes that nobody wants to touch.
And, we have pilchards. Yay.
In fact, I see this as a fun challenge – one that I have wanted to try for a long time. How satisfying must it be to know that you have not wasted a single penny, and eaten all the food you have purchased? Not long ago, people lived like that every day, when rations were normal and gluttony was unheard of. Some people live like that now.
Yesterday, for pudding, the Four Little Seymours had out-of-date meringes with a few blackberries gleaned from the roadside.
Today, I might endeavour to make flapjack, as I have three jars of golden syrup in the cupboard from when Tesco was selling it off at 18p a pop in the summer. What’s the point of it sitting there?
Yes, this will be fun, and a good lesson to learn. Boy Seymour spontaneously handed me two pounds and seventy pence that he had been stashing on his window sill, telling me with a smile that “food is more important than toys”. I tried to refuse it, but he was only satisfied when I agreed to take the pennies, and leave them on the fridge in case I needed to use them.
This prompted Little Seymour Number Two to proffer some of her cash, and Little Seymour Number One to announce – in front of the Guide leader- that she couldn’t go on camp, because we can’t afford it.
Oops, that wasn’t meant to happen.
Mini Seymour is, of course, oblivious to it all, and proceeds to leave the taps on at will, sending lovely, steaming hot water careering straight down the plug hole for twenty minutes at a time, for no reason other than she wants to wash her fairies. But I don’t think it will do the bigger Little Seymours any harm to realise that money, like Mini Seymour’s water, is not free-flowing. And when they act so well in the face of impending starvation, I must admit to feeling really rather proud.
If I am honest, this whole exercise is probably more about me wanting to de-clutter the cupboards than it is about finances. It’s been a while since I really checked what was in there, and as Big Seymour plans to start demolishing the kitchen soon, it may well be a good time to get things out of there. But I like the idea of making do, just to see if we can.
There will be come a point when the Four Little Seymours can bear it no longer. We are already almost devoid of peanut butter, and I have counted a measly four Bourbons in the biscuit tin. We’re all out of Jaffa cakes, and the only bread left in the freezer is brown. None of which is cause for too much concern. But I’m sure there will be a dirty protest when the multipack of crisps runs out – that’s serious. And then, I shall summon our hero, Tesco Man.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have worried the Little Seymours with the state of our finances. That’s not for them to fret about. But I hope that one day, when our house is splendid, and we are posh, they appreciate the lengths we have all gone through to get there, and they are grateful.
On a positive note, it’s Friday night, the council bill is paid, and we’re in the black. Just. I am about to improvise, and conjure up a home-made pizza using Heinz ketchup and Babybels. Which will be delicious. And most importantly of all, we have the Four little Seymours. That’s what I call good fortune.
Oh, and because I accidentally ordered two from Tesco Man last week, Big Seymour and I still have our Friday Night Curry to look forward to!
Life is good. x
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