I once read an article that said you could tell a lot about a person from the contents of their wallet. 'No Sh*T Sherlock,' I hear you say, but money aside, apparently the other stuff you carry around can actually speak volumes about you.




At the time I was a fresh-faced and enthusiastic eighteen year old, with a full time job at a health spa, very little responsibility and plans to conquer the world, one shoe at a time.




My wallet was of course manufactured and designed by Morgan De Toi, it was black, with a chunky silver, 'M' tag and it was home to many a truth-telling token. Photographs of drunk and happy groups of friends snapped in the hottest nightclubs in town accompanied by old train tickets, beauticians business cards and taxi numbers. Tucked away in the compartments that only those with teeny, tiny fingers could access were screwed up bits of receipts printed with telephone numbers carefully scrawled in eye liner. And on display for all to see were my newly-acquired driving licence and permanently abused cash-cards.




But I think my favourite token living in my wallet, which was strategically set to take pride of place, was none other than the little black rectangle of endless possibility. My first ever Credit Card.




Oh and it was so beautiful. Slim, sleek and shiny, with my name boldly embossed across the front of it and that familiar symbol of 'VISA' glistening away and provoking my imagination into a frenzy every time I caught sight of it.




I hadn't intended on owning my own Credit Card. The responsible seventeen year old Stephanie had assured herself that she would never be getting into debt. Yet the closer i got to my eighteenth birthday the more persistent the application forms became. Eventually it dawned on me that whilst I didn't trust myself with such a dangerous weapon Mr. Bank manager clearly did think i was responsible enough, and not only that but he actually wanted to give me free money in the form of a flexible friend. I didn't want to upset him, so of course I did my duty and applied for a card with a £2000 limit.




It wasn't to be used though, nope, i promised myself and my parents faithfully that it was merely there to add some art to my wallet. It looked good and provided good company for my other cards so that's where it would stay.




Until i ran out of real money one day. And there was a sale on at Topshop. And it was a really good sale. And included in the sale was the most gorgeous pair of rainbow stilettos. And i fell in love. And they told me to buy them. And my little credit card asked to be swiped. And the rest, as they say, is history.




But it was okay. They were an investment, (no really, they were, seven years on and I still wear them!) and it wasn't real money that I'd purchased them with anyway, everyone knows that credit cards aren't real money.




After that I became quite good at using my credit card, it served a real purpose and the two of us built a lovely relationship. Unfortunately though that relationship wasn't a long-lasting one, because whilst the money wasn't real, the bills were.




Suddenly the literature promising such hopes as 0%APR (which stands for something quite good in financial terms, i think) and lots of cashback and stuff turned nasty. The letters became mean and scary and the postman started smirking slightly whenever he delivered a red letter through the door. And my hard-earned wages told me they wanted to spent on travelling the world and not on the minimum payment that the credit card company demanded.

I got so used to living the champagne lifestyle on the lemonade budget that it actually hurt when I was forced to chop my lovely card up into little bits. I guess I leant my lesson the hard way.




Actually that's bull, in fact the only thing i really learnt is that I am extremely good at spending money. It's one of my talents. When i got my first pad at 20 years old I discovered that I am so good at spending that I managed to single-handedly blow an entire months rent in just one shop in half an hour. That's a record surely? Alas tis not a record anyone else seems to want to celebrate.




Eventually I have grown to kind of despise money. It's a weapon of ultimate temptation. It's full of empty promises and it brings out the absolute worst in even the nicest of people.




If I ruled the world I would abolish all kinds of money and instead go with the romantic notion that I've been working on in my fantasy land for quite some time. Instead of having and spending money to get what we need and desire we should just swap stuff? Trade for trade.




You know, like if i wanted to buy milk or something I could just go along to a farmer, select a cow, write the farmer and his cow something to amuse them and in return grab a pint.




And if a hairdresser needed an extension built on her house she could offer the builder highlights, or a new barnet or something?




You could have a lovely meal in a restaurant, for example, and literally sing for your supper. And the world would be a much happier place.




What do you think??




Until that day rolls around I guess I'll just have to live in the real world and accept that Money and Stephanie simply do make for a bit of a disaster, which is exactly what Mr. Connolly discovered upon meeting me.




Nowadays, much like the queen, I very rarely carry real money on me. And if i do have dosh in my purse we tend to part ways pretty quickly.




Mr. Connolly handles our finances and he does a fab job. Admittedly i don't own as many shoes and handbags as I could. Alas i can now climb into bed quite comfortably without sharing my slumber patch with my wardrobe (before I owned so many shoes that i could barely see a spot in which to rest my head.) And we have a fridge full of yummy food and a lovely roof over our heads, which is more than I could provide. (Tis better to have a home in which to house a *small amount of shoes than it is to just have shoes, apparently.)




It's an old-fashioned kind of arrangement, that we have here in the Connolly household, but it is definitely an arrangement that works.




If we go anywhere it's always Jay that picks up the bill, he goes to the bar when we go out and orders and pays for the drinks, (it's a London boy thing and if seeking a bit of a modern-day gentleman i highly recommend them) and even though I shouldn't say this as a modern gal, i much prefer it this way.




Especially now that we are all victims of the Credit Crunch, (unless of course you are an MP in which case you are probably still living the life of Riley.)




I can't pretend to know much about the ins and outs of why our country is in a state of financial disrepair. But it does frighten me. So many jobs are disappearing and so many redundancies are being made, and such a lot of talent, therefore is being wasted. It's so depressing.




Alas it seems the rest of the country are dealing with this depression much the same was as I do. With a little spot of retail therapy, (which works wonders) – and finally it is okay to shop. It's good for the economy.




So dig out your shopping shoes ladies and gents, and grab your 'bags for life'. Hit the pavements the way only Gok can and do not return unless you have battered your bank balances. ;-) It is, after all our duty. (And if you feel the urge to buy me presents please do not suppress it!)

 


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