Now, where did I leave you? Oh yes I remember I was in a salvaged outfit and off to meet the man of my dreams. So, the getting out of the house bit went very well, I then strolled up the street to meet him. I say ‘strolled’ I think ‘delicately plodded’ is probably a better description. I’d forgotten that my housemate has slightly larger feet than me and by the time I realised these shoes weren’t working I was already late.

Off I went, I could see him just a little way away. My heart was beating hard, my palms were feeling a little sweaty, and my breath was getting caught in my throat, then…floor. By floor I mean that’s where I now was. With one misplaced step in an ill-fitting shoe, my right ankle gave way and, to make it even less dignified, my handbag landed on top of my head. I’m a very classy girl. He came running which helped ease my throbbing head a little. We then limped into the club. After this severe wardrobe malfunction, everything went swimmingly. He is rather lovely and there may have been a little brushing of arm and later there may have been a kiss or two, but a lady never tells.

We have our next date tomorrow. And it’s my choice of destination and you know what that means it’s got to be chiconomic. I need the perfect blend of gorgeous setting, and little chance of money being spent. I’ll have a think.

In other areas of my life, things are a little tight budget wise but I’m starting to get used to it. Well, sort of, Kate helped me quit the gym – not the easiest of tasks. And she has been urging me to work out with her. Rebecca came with us to stare with horror as we star jumped around the park rather than my usual downward dog or lotus. I felt so stupid that it was actually really quite liberating. I can’t run, but I attempted to jog, and there we were running about like a couple of kids in Sweaty Betty sportswear, (well if I’m going to look stupid I may as well still be dressed fashionably). So that’s saved a huge amount of money, and the next hit is going to be curbing my shopping addiction. I have cut back, but going to have to do it even more. I’m apparently being taken sample sale shopping by Zoe, got to be honest, not sure about this I don’t really care for crowds. But 70% off Alexander McQueen sounds too good to miss.

As for my date, I have decided that the way forward is cute and quirky. I am thinking perhaps a picnic; I quite like the idea of being a domestic goddess, oh yes this is going to be fun…

 Isn’t it amazing how everything can feel like the end of the world and the next you’re walking on air, without a care in the world?! Well I care, just not as much. Oh yes, the world is beautiful, birds are singing. What’s the secret to my newfound joy? I’ll give you a hint, it isn’t a pay rise, so what else can possibly make a girl’s mood lift so dramatically? A man of course!

I should probably let you into a bit of an insight on my relationship with the opposite sex. It’s non-existent, and then when it is existent it’s pretty fleeting. I had a long relationship once, it wasn’t great, and didn’t really like him that much. Yes, I am no good at relationships, I won’t always blame the man, because I’m pretty sure I can be a nightmare. But I’m so bad at all the game playing I either appear clingy or stand offish, is there no happy medium? So whilst the male mentality completely baffles me I continue to pursue.

So back to my new beau (well, soon to be). He is rakishly good looking, and it’s a funny story to how we met. In fact the more I think about it, the more it’s like one you might tell your grandkids. Ok, I’m getting a little ahead of myself. It was Monday morning; I was in desperate need of a haircut. And sadly as Kate informed me, this is one of my worst spending areas. So I decided to be ever so brave and head off to a hairdressing academy, it was a top hairdressing chain so wasn’t too worried (rescue remedy helped a little). It was graduated bob day, which was perfect for me, so had my hair expertly if not a little slowly sculpted into shape and it cost me £7. Not to shabby, I skipped away feeling pretty damn fabulous and headed to the tube. As if fate had intervened the train was waiting and I leaped through the doors just as they closed. With a sigh of relief I heard a voice “that was lucky” and I turned and expected some sleazy weirdo but was greeted by the rare sight of a truly beautiful man. And so we began to chat, turns out he is one of the top dogs in a major publishing company, I also found out he’s 31, single and enjoys climbing, so we shared our apparent love of rock climbing (I can learn) and hit it off. We exchanged numbers and I floated away.

Now, back to the present, it’s [DAY] I’ve got to be at an exclusive party in less than 2 hours (it’s being held by a client so no money being spent by me, great!] and I need to find something to wear. I’ve decided to invite HIM and he’s (rather frighteningly) accepted. But now I have nothing to wear, ok, I know that’s not technically true, but I’ve worn everything in my wardrobe before. Oh I have no time, no time at all, and I’m still writing and I really need to be dressing. Here’s my plan: borrow my housemate’s shoes, take an oversized white shirt pair with a pair of black shiny leggings throw on my grandmother’s beads and I have a not so new, on trend outfit (which is sexy to boot). Wish me luck.

 Today was not that fun. They say to people with addictions that the first step towards a new life is admitting it. So after admitting it to myself, I thought it high time to inform my friends of my newfound lack of wealth.

I expect many of you have similar strange groups of friends, there’s always the more normal one who hides it under a quirkier façade, there’s the little princess, the black cloud and the mediator. I am perhaps the mediator, tending to keep everyone else afloat, being a shoulder to cry on and then dishing out tough love when it is expertly needed. It was off to meet the girls and prepare for their reactions.

As I entered the not-so-expertly-chosen chic cocktail bar, I became very aware that my usual was not really an option. I was also shocked to find that even a non-alcoholic fruit smoothie thing was the same price as the alcoholic version, why is that?! Surely vodka costs more than strawberries? Anyway, I settled on a G&T and sidled over to my friends.

My mind was racing: would they suddenly ditch me because I couldn’t afford brunch every other day? No, that’s madness; they would never do that… would they? I decided to wait for the opportune moment; sadly it came round quicker than I thought. And in one giant blubbering mess I sobbed it all out.

Zoe (the black cloud) said she wasn’t surprised, Rebecca (the princess) sat aghast and saying things like “oh, how awful” and the normal one, Kate, looked sympathetic. I sat staring into my drink, and they imparted words of wisdom, those from Zoe being useless ones such as “you should have saved, don’t you have a high interest blah blah account?” Rebecca looked increasingly uncomfortable; almost as though I had told her I had a very infectious disease. Her imparted words of wisdom were “does this mean we can’t go shopping to New York next month?” Although she did offer one piece of interesting advice, how about selling some of my clothes. A week ago I would have laughed in your face if you had suggested such a thing. But now it’s actually looking like quite a good plan. I have so many clothes, so many beautiful clothes. This is one to store away. Kate promised to help me, and has agreed to go through my accounts and see where I can save some cash.

It was pretty hard today, we live a nice lifestyle as a foursome, and I may now send things out of kilter. But as Kate said a change is maybe what we need. And in a move towards girlfriend solidarity they promised they would start watching their spending budgets. Yeah we’ll just see how long Rebecca can go without her weekly pedicure and stress-relieving facial. So now I am off to plan how to make my fortune selling my unwanted clothes, and quite likely a number of other harebrained schemes. This actually might be quite fun (I said quite).

So here I am, it’s 5th June and I’m alone in my house. I’m sat here with an expression of fear, shock and panic. Like witnessing a car crash, I’m appalled but yet I can’t stop staring. But what is it that distresses me so much? A horror film? A TV show? Some freaky documentary? I wish! Instead I’m sat in front of an opened bank statement with a pile towering sky high of unopened and equally evil ones.

I am literally seeing red. And how did all this mess start? How does it always start? Girl goes to Uni, girl parties her way into Uni debt, gets job, gets paid, gets lots of lovely money, then girl has a nice full wardrobe. Ok, I may have a small shopping addiction, but it’s not that bad. And actually, I was strutting along quite nicely, but thanks to the vile R word I am no longer an affluent young professional. I still thankfully have a job, but only because I agreed to take a rather substantial pay cut and bonus freeze. I say ‘agreed’, but it was more ‘begrudgingly accepted along with wailing, tears and maybe even a bit of feet stomping’. But I decided less money was better than none. Only I hadn’t realised that having less money was the equivalent of having none, as I am a bank statement hoarder.

Yes they drop through the post, and I know I’ve got them, but to keep them all nice and safe I drop them in the drawer. So how did they get out of the draw and onto my tear stained silk clad lap? Well it all started with a Reiss dress and a declined credit card, then a declined debit card and a declined ‘emergency only’ card. So fast-forward one embarrassing high-street shopping incident, and here I am.

Ok, so not having a dress isn’t the worst thing in the world, but it’s pretty scary stuff. Realising actually you can’t live like you did yesterday and that all those things you took for granted are actually luxuries. I may as well be singing a Smiths song as I write this. Don’t let my current mood put you off; I am usually an upbeat happy-go-lucky kind of girl. I am very lucky in fact, but I work hard too (and socialise pretty hard as well). I have worked my way up the corporate ladder and am now a senior account manager at a media company. Not bad going for a 27 year old, I think you’ll agree. I live with two housemates one is a big city whiz, and the other a modern day slave a.k.a. fashion intern. We live in the oh-so-cool Shoreditch and as for men? Ha, don’t make me laugh; I could fill a book on just my misadventures in love.

So now you know me, and my plight. Today the mission begins. Today is the day Ellie Bly learns to economise, or as I prefer to call it chiconomise (sounds prettier).