Reflections on an austerity budget

Not that long ago, Mr Namasi and I had two good salaries coming in: he had an executive  job in the city, and I had a very respectable career in the Learning & Development field (don't worry if you don't know what that is - most people don't).

But, after a quarter of a century, I had become disenchanted with the L&D field. Luminaries in the field were standing on platforms saying things I had been saying for years without anyone taking the blindest bit of notice. I was having the same conversations with clients I had been having for a decade and more. People constantly used the word 'innovation', but seldom meant it. And my mental health wasn't great.

So, because Mr Namasi was earning a good salary and our sons were grown up, we decided that we could afford for me to embark on this next chapter: making, upcycling, crafting and doing. I was as happy as Larry, but I was making little to no money. It didn't matter, though.

Then Mr Namasi's company was closed down.

By 23 December 2016, we had gone from two good salaries to none. And the job market for the over 50s is looking bleak, to say the least.

So we instituted what we call our 'austerity budget'.

This involved some very obvious things like not eating out, not buying new clothes, cutting out luxuries, reducing our use of the car and so on.

We changed our buying patterns: shopping at cheaper supermarkets, checking out the reduced section, using cheaper brands, reducing our meat consumption, buying cheaper cuts of the meat we do eat, buying frozen instead of fresh, etc.

We changed our eating patterns, too: instead of cooking up a whole pack of bacon (for example) for a single meal, we now spread it over two or three meals. We substitute pulses for meat (lentil Bolognese, anyone?). We tweak recipes to leave out more expensive ingredients. We try to use what herbs/spices we already have.

We made a conscious effort to decrease our wastage. So we deliberately plan meals around what we've got in the fridge, so that the half bag of salad or two lonely carrots are eaten before they become irredeemable.

Best. Toothpaste. Ever.

We accept gifts without taking offence - seeing them for the acts of love they are. Our pantry is occasionally bolstered by items donated by friends, and we were recently blessed out of our socks to receive pretty much a year's supply of our preferred toothpaste (an environmentally friendly, health shop brand not available in supermarkets, and carrying a comparatively hefty price tag).

We arrive empty handed at friends' home when invited for a meal, and trust that they will forgive us the lack of a bottle of wine/bunch of flowers/box of chocolates for the host/ess.

We give home made gifts for birthdays, weddings, etc. and trust that the recipient will appreciate the thought, love and effort that went into making something instead of buying something.

Home made body lotion

We try to diy as much as possible: mending broken things we would normally just replace, and so on. I even had a go at making my own body lotion, using up dregs from various bottles in my dressing table, together with various oils and so forth I had to hand. The resultant concoction is a little weird, but it will do for now, and it didn't cost me a penny.

And then there's always Freecyle/Freegle and their ilk. 

Does this sound miserable to you?

Well, it isn't. It's something of a journey of discovery. An adventure. And we're in it together. We make no bones about the fact that it's tough, but we find that adopting a positive attitude, and being flexible about unexpected results makes it totally bearable. Even fun.

We recently attended the wedding of our younger son's best friend. The fresh-faced young couple spoke their vows, committing to the better, worse, richer, poorer, sickness and health. And we thought about how, in the 29 years we've been married, we've experienced - and survived - all those things. And right now, worse, poorer and sickness (if you count my ongoing battles with depression) are the order of the day.

Don't get me wrong: I'm ready for the austerity budget phase to be over, the sooner the better. But while it lasts, there's no point in being miserable about it.

When you're busy making other plans

Life. That's what happens when you're busy making other plans.

You probably know that, for the past few weeks, I've been helping a friend get a little shop up and running in Northampton.

Neither of us planned this. She had originally set up a completely different business in that space, for which she had employed a manager, and she had allowed me the use of a good sized workshop on the same premises.

I was going to use that space to make and upcycle furniture and larger items. I had a studio at home where I did smaller crafts like sewing, jewellery and so forth. Because my husband had a well-paid job in the city, I wasn't under pressure to make pots of money, and could allow things to grow organically.

Those were the plans.

Ha!

The business my friend had set up did not go well and the manager quit very quickly. I lost the use of the workshop space. My husband's company folded and he - together with his entire staff - was made redundant.

So we revised our plans.

We would sell our house and downsize. While my husband looked for a new job, we would rent and live off the proceeds from the sale of the house.

My friend would open a new shop in that space and I would work for her part time, using the rest of my time to continue working on my smaller craft items until such time as I was able to once again gain access to a workshop space. Once the shop was rolling along, she would recruit a full time staff member, and I would revert to being one of the shop's team of suppliers of goods and (in my case) services.

Then those plans were disrupted too.

The sale of our house fell at the final hurdle. My husband's job hunting has (to date) borne no fruit. My friend was diagnosed with something horrible.

So it was time for revised revised plans.

We introduced a phase 1 austerity budget (if things don't improve soon, phase 2 will have to be invoked) at home. The house went back on the market. My husband applied for jobseekers' allowance, although he continues the job search with dedication and commitment. I will work in the shop full time for the next while. My friend will work somewhere else on a part time basis and undergo a treatment programme.

In due course, we hope that the house will sell. We hope that my husband will find a job. We hope that the shop will do well enough to recruit a full time staff member. We hope that the treatment will work.

It has been a very weird time. And there is so much uncertainty surrounding us at the moment. The next few weeks could be interesting, to say the least.