Confessions of a Reluctant Recessionista by Amy Silver

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    ‘I will get a job. Job hunting starts Monday. In earnest. Promise. Plus, I’m not just shopping randomly, you know,’ giving her arm a squeeze. ‘There is a point to my purchases. This morning, for example, I was feeling really rubbish about myself in the gym, with my kit almost falling apart—’
    ‘You bought those jogging bottoms about a month ago,’ Jude interrupted, rolling her eyes at me.
    ‘Almost falling apart,’ I went on, ‘and you know what it’s like. If you don’t feel good about yourself in the gym it’s really de-motivating. Makes you not want to bother any more. And if I stopped going, it would be a huge waste of money, wouldn’t it? Paying a hundred quid a month and then not even going?’
    ‘It’s a waste of money anyway. What’s wrong with running in the park?’
    ‘Park’s full of nutters and dog shit,’ I muttered. ‘Plus it’s much too cold to run outside now. I’d have to buy a whole new exercise wardrobe if I were to run in the park in winter, and that would cost a fortune, wouldn’t it?’
    Jude just laughed, shaking her head again.
    ‘Jake was asking about you, by the way,’ she said, tossing me the magazine section, the only bit of the paper I tend to look at.
    ‘Who?’ I asked, flicking through the magazine to the health and beauty section. There was an article on the new ‘peel’ treatment at Body & Soul, a day spa in Kensington. ‘Oh, that sounds nice. “An Energising blood orange-scented body scrub followed by a thirty-minute massage”.’
    ‘You know, my friend from college, the guy who was here the other day? The one you could barely be civil to?’
    ‘Oh, right. I wonder if they’ve got any appointments at Body & Soul today? I could do with a massage after all the stress of the past few days. Plus I’m in desperate need of a pedicure.’
    I rang the spa and, incredibly, they’d had a couple of cancellations. They could fit me in after lunch. Fantastic.
    ‘I’ve got to keep busy,’ I said to Jude, who, I could tell, was just dying to ask me how much the treatments cost (£125 for the massage, £55 for the pedicure, not that I would have told her that). ‘If I stay in I’ll just be sitting around here all day, moping about Dan. You don’t want me to do that, do you?’
    ‘No, of course not. You should go out and enjoy yourself,’ she said, surprisingly encouragingly. ‘Actually, Jake and I were thinking of going to the Eve Arnold exhibition at the Barbican this afternoon. You should join us. It’d be a lot cheaper than going to thespa. Did I tell you that Jake’s a photographer? He’s really good actually.’
    Aha. Now I see what she’s up to.
    ‘Mmm, not really in the mood for art right now. All that standing around and considering the meaning of things. It’s just going to depress me even more.’ Desperate to divert her focus from my spending habits, I brought up the only other subject she’s willing to talk about ad nauseam, Matt.
    ‘How’s the love of your life doing? Hope you’re not keeping news from the front from me, just because my love life’s down the pan.’ Matt is Jude’s boyfriend whom she almost never sees – he works for Unicef and spends around nine months of the year out of the country, usually in places where there is a higher-than-average likelihood of being shot.
    ‘Not at all. He’s fine. Sierra Leone this week. With a bit of luck he’ll be in London for ten days in December. I was going to ask you about that, actually – usually he stays at his brother’s place, but I was hoping he might stay here this time?’
    ‘Course he can, Jude. He can stay for as long as he likes.’ I gave her a quick peck on the cheek and slipped out the door before she could start interrogating me on the cost of spa treatments.
    The exfoliating scrub was delightfully relaxing, the pedicure less so. Not that the beauty therapist didn’t do a very fine job, lacquering my toenails to perfection with Chanel Rouge Noir.