How Hard Can It Be? Pt.3

Nearing the end of Day One… if you don’t count last night’s efforts.

I’m still at work. I have no real attraction to leave; on any other week I would be leaving to go out with friends or to buy too much food for one sitting, head home, sit, and eat too much food; both of which I enjoy immensely. It is

Usually if I were heading home, although I’d usually keep working, I’d have hired a movie to watch and if I were going out, I’d almost certainly be meeting in a bar or a pub somewhere. Instead I have nothing to do. I have a selection of movies I have seen thousands of times between them all, I have a dodgy Internet connection with nothing to look for and I have a mountain of washing to do. With this in mind, I am happy staying in the warm office until I get chucked out.

Furthermore, it is still raining.

This morning I got absolutely soaked. Although I would never consider myself a fair-weather cyclist, when it rains as hard as it was when it came to leaving the house I would usually jump on the bus and sit in the dry. The bus costs £1 so that left me with no option. I cycled and paid for it in discomfort for the subsequent 6 hours.

My shoes are still drying on the radiator and my trousers still looked like I wet myself – albeit a day ago, which seems all the more squalid to me!

Food hasn’t been too horrific today; the company I work for are amazing and provide their employees with complementary cereal each morning. I chose Shredded Wheat this morning; it was wholesome and delightful and pushed me through to 2.30pm before the stomach-rumbles were becoming too distracting.

To quell my tummy’s dissatisfaction and sustenance deprivation I chewed through 2 Riveta I found in one of my desk draws… a hidden bonus to the reserves (especially as I gorged through the crisps last night).

And now? It is 7.30pm and I’m already looking forward to another breakfast tomorrow morning!

My friend just dropped me a line asking me what I was doing tonight and whether I wanted to meet him for a drink, the answer was no. I don’t think I’m used to this enough to resist yet. I think the best course of action is to go home, curl up with a movie and a tea (yes I also forgot to mention the tea yesterday, sorry).

To make this week’s antics worthwhile, I think I’m going to have to explore a bit. I’ve always said, London is full of free opportunities for fun and I think this might be the opportunity I have to truly prove it.

By the way, I am Twittering or, rather, ‘Tweeting’ this entire experience every couple of minutes. Follow me at twitter.com/jameslacey

How Hard Can it Be? Pt.2

News Update.

Since setting myself this challenge two hours ago I have already eaten the rest of the Walkers Thai Sweet Chili Crisp Sensations. I’m bloody starving. This does not bode well for a working week on non-spenditure!

I’m distracting myself with writing content for work but the stomach is still rumbling. I’m actually contemplating going to sleep now to escape the urge to polish off everything I have left to last me the week.

Shit.

How Hard Can it be? Pt.1

A recent series of events has led to me being seriously short of funds. Firstly, some little bastard managed to clone an Amazon payment and bust me £800 for something that I will never receive, then – only the night after – another little bastard stole my jacket from a bar with my ipod and headphones in the pocket. The next day I learnt that FitnessFirst were pressing me for an entire month’s membership fee because the processed my letter of notice a very convenience two days after the new month’s payment in advance was due… the fact that I had sent the letter a month in advance already seemed to be neither here nor there. Finally, and this one actually is my fault, I have been fined by the DVLA for not renewing a SORN status on my motorbike.

It has been an expensive week!

Subsequently, with all of the above in mind, I’ve decided to set myself a challenge for the next week. Inspired by Mark Boyle who is currently living off the land down in the West Country; I’ve decided to see whether I can make it to the other side of the week without spending a penny.

This obviously excludes rent that is already paid and [hopefully] we aren’t about to get stung by an unexpected bill or any kind.

The reason for this is, not only do I need to save up some money to get back to where I was only last week but also I am absolutely convinced that so much of my expenditure doesn’t really benefit me.

Now that cards are being accepted more and more around the East End I have slowly started creeping back into my old ways of picking up a coffee for no reason, buying myself ‘a little something’ every time I set foot in a supermarket and am forced to queue next to the confectionary and I simply do not need any more fancy socks – I admit, one of the stranger addictions one might have!

So the plan is to survive from right now through to the end of the working week (I have already made plans that I know will cost me money on the weekend) without spending a single penny of my money.

The important information before I begin:

In my kitchen I have the evidence of a rather hectic lifestyle, I am rarely ever home and my food supply shows it.

To my name I have:

·      3 x Instant Noodles of various ‘flavour’.

·      1 x 2 pint carton of full fat milk. Opened.

·      1 x 500ml bottle of Ketchup.

·      1 x Half eaten bag of Walkers Thai Sweet Chilli Crisp Sensations.

·      1 x Absolut Vodka Christmas gift set.

·      1 x Packet of Migraine pain killers… 2 left.

 

I think I have enough toiletries to make it through the weekend, the priority being deodorant and toilet paper… fingers crossed!

For the first time in a long time, I have a relatively clear diary for the week – there is so much to do at work that I can’t see me getting time to do anything other than go to the gym and that is also paid in advance.

As I am sure my evening plans will change, the game is to cycle there as usual and not drink/consume. I went a bit orthodox on the wider concept of LosingFace a while ago, preventing friends from paying for things for me etc, that was pretty tough and not always possible, I think this might be trickier.

I will also write every day with updates on how I am doing.

Let the games begin!

Oh! And one last thing, I just weighed myself; I figure the sudden halt to the pastries and hot chocolates that I usually devour will probably mean I drop a few.

I weigh 78kg today.

Rock on.

 

A Misplaced Effort

As I’m sure I have mentioned countless times, I ride a bike – practically everywhere. In relation to other big cities in the UK, let alone the more rural areas, London’s public transport system is pretty damn good (until you start to think with a global perspective – then it is pretty shyte).

Despite having a never-empty Oyster card chip built into my Paywave card and therefore always on my person, I would still choose to ride across greater London than get on a bus, then a tube, then walk a bit to another bus stop and so on – all the while, putting up with the odd personalities, the rouge sneezes and the loud-speaker mobile phones blaring out RnB from the back of the bus like a marching flag of the users bland identity.

I’ve always felt this way since moving to London lots of years ago and despite the occasional period of broken bikes or broken limbs, I’ve been very loyal to two wheels the entire time, even through the winters.

I also know that I’ve mentioned where in London I live! The East -by far the very worst funded public transport system in the entire city. Criminally underfunded, poorly policed and constantly broken which means an awful lot of other residents have turned to their own means of travel, it is wonderful to see so many people on bikes!

I used to live at the foot of Bricklane for years until it got a bit too pricey and my housemate and I decided to opt for new surroundings and pastures new, subsequently moving to Hackney further North.

These locations have meant that at least once a week but usually every day, I would cycle up or down Bricklane to get to or from home or work. Cycling up Bricklane is fine, it is a one lane, one direction road with so many people around cars and bikes alike can only really crawl up it.

For exactly the same reasons, cycling down it isn’t quite so OK, there is one lane of traffic coming straight at you and whilst it isn’t dangerous in the slightest due to speed and so few vehicles, it is illegal.

Yesterday was the first day in a long time I didn’t take my bike to work, I had to be at Oxford Circus for some ungodly hour and it was raining and my legs were still aching from the ride the night before. I left it at home and caught the bus.

It wasn’t until I was leaving work and walking up Bricklane in the evening when it was dry and my legs had loosened up again that I found myself longing for my bike, wishing I’d put up with the rain so that I didn’t need to put up with this tediously slow walk to a bus stop I knew would be packed.

It was with that thought that I saw two community police officers busting every single cyclist coming down Bricklane. Every one of them was getting an on-the-spot fine and a queue was starting to form as one risked his own safety and the cyclists, pouncing out in front of the riders, forcing them to stop whilst the other struggled to write out the paperwork.

I wondered if they’d played Rock-Paper-Scissors as to see who would get the crap admin job.

I was angry to see that the queue of reprimanded cyclists was a diverse bunch. Weirdly, despite being one myself, I could understand if the cops were pulling over the more reckless cohort of riders, it is hard to describe without offending, but the boys and girls that look like they really ride a lot (for a career or otherwise) – I will completely resist using the words Fixed or SingleSpeed in the description.

But no, the queue contained all sorts of people, older gentlemen on Bromptons adorned in reflective bands, beautiful girls on their Pashleys and old Raleigh Shoppers, commuters with their helmets and rows upon rows of flashing lights and, of course, the odd one or two race/road/track bikes.

Seeing that made me think what an utter waste of time that is. Why not, instead of sending two poor and unsuspecting do-good rookies down to shoot a bucket of fish with a shotgun, don’t the local authority (Tower Hamlets) do a little bit of market research and realise just how much cycle-traffic comes down Bricklane?

Considering the alternatives, that road is infinitely safer to go the wrong way down than the right way of any other parallel street nearby. You’d think the council would think that, potentially, instead of fighting fire with fire, they might actually be able to help and build a counter flow cycle lane?

Surely it wouldn’t be that hard? The pavement and the lane are the same height already and, in most parts, the paths are of a generous width… that way they wouldn’t need to send cops down there to teach a handful of the daily riders a lesson that they will surely forget the moment they pay the £80 (?!?!) fine!

Riding a bike is, by far, the most rewarding and liberating mode of transportation in London; it is sociable, healthy and actually remarkably safe unless you’re an idiot. With all the transport campaigns and eco-awareness about cycling, I’d like to think that TfL, Boris and the local authorities would be willing to do what they can to ensure more people take to their steel-horses each morning.

For the evening, at least, I was glad I wasn’t on my bike. A fine is the equivalent to eighty bus rides, no matter how unenjoyable or delayed.

The Good Life

I’ve been absolutely flat out with work for the last few weeks. Without a moment to really breathe let alone trawl through my reader; I have completely fallen behind the times – especially current affairs.

This evening, whilst finally taking a moment for myself, I managed to watch the inauguration speech from Tuesday, hear even more media hype about how Britain is spiralling into even deeper economic disaster and that Mark Boyle from near Bath is about to undertake living for a year without cash.

The speech was brilliantly but brutally pessimistic, apparently Britain’s economy is completely fucked, and Boyle isn’t living cashlessly as I am but instead he is living entirely without money… certainly a brave step beyond my current efforts!

He says he has arranged with a friend to pay his National Insurance for him and Mark also plans to rummage through skips and other people’s rubbish to survive. He’ll also make use of a scheme called Freecycle, the good ol’ online network of recycling enthusiasts and new-age urban environmentalists that includes a great number of my former housemates; and Freeconomy which is another online network – enabling people to swap skills

Whilst emulating the 1970’s hit TV show, The Good Life, I fear Mark Boyle lacks some of Felicity Kendal’s aesthetic and femininity; something, I have learnt, will make the awkward transition between not doing something and doing something much, much easier.

Mark Boyle on SkyNews

None-the-less, I wish Mark the very best of luck in living without money at all for a year. In light of our recent economic predicament, this seems like as good a year as any!

News Flash! (…It is in there somewhere.)

I was hanging out with friends yesterday afternoon, soaking up a bit of the very rare winter sun and taking in the sights of a very busy Bricklane. It was all very pleasant, despite the stolen bikes at extortionate prices, the ever more blatant contraband tobacco ring and the growing number of DVD rippers… they all add to the street’s unquestionable charm in a strange way – especially when you can’t trade with them in the first place.

It had been a few hours into the jaunt before I was dragged into Beyond Retro, a giant emporium of colourful clothes that the world’s most eccentric almost certainly died in and now provide endless joy and cause for sequinned admiration throughout Shoreditch and Dalston.

Suddenly finding myself dawdling around the chromatic rack upon rack of second and third [and quite possibly 4^th] hand youth club T-Shirts whilst my female co-jaunters suddenly became frenzied shoppers; trying on anything and everything they may or may not have liked the look at.

Almost an hour had past and I had run out of faded vinyl team-slogans to read, wacky trousers to look bemused at and broken tin clockwork toys to feel cumbersome amongst. It was time to leave and the ‘I’m bored, get me out of here’, face came out in vengeance.

As quickly as the upturned smile was presented, we were ready to leave and in the queue to pay for a single, solitary jumper (an hour for one freaking jumper between five of us?!?).

I was waiting patiently by the door with the rest of the empty handed Sunday shoppers when a muffled yell of horror came from our final, remaining compadre. She was unable to pay for said jumper as she had lost her wallet. She was pissed off and panicking. I was just pissed off.

After the realisation that it wasn’t in any of her pockets or her bag after numerous and unnecessary double, triple, quadruple checks, the group therapy began; a chorus of “Well, where did you last have it?” Followed by, “I don’t fucking know, it must have been stolen, it isn’t where I put it. Fuck.”

I don’t think we were helping. All I could think about was how shit it is to lose everything like that. I’ve never lost my entire wallet at once, I’ve lost the majority of it over time but I have never been incapacitated entirely in one foul swoop. If it hadn’t had been hours in the waiting, I would definitely have felt sorry for her.

Fortunately she had her passport still but that was literally it. Everything else was gone, her bank cards, her cash, her ID, her driving licence, personal pictures of friends and family from home, the works.

OK, I did feel sorry for her. Especially for the unenviable task of telling her parents back in France what had happened; no matter your age, parents cannot help not helping – they will be angry at the victim, they will suggest redundant suggestions on how to prevent what has already happened or they will tell you that another sibling would be less likely to have found themselves in such a predicament.

After a few more minutes of unproductive but justified flapping, we deduced that the last time she used the wallet was in Pret-a-Manger on Bishopsgate, despite being hours earlier and subsequently spending the time in between meandering around an absolutely jam-packed market renowned for opportunistic pick-pockets with a handbag that has a broken clasp, Pret seemed like a pretty logical place to look first to me.

Nope.

Wrong.

We should talk about it more and then probably go and get some food somewhere to talk about it further… an orthodox plan, but I was willing to see it through if it meant not causing a fuss amongst people I didn’t really know.

Unable to console, unable to help by actually looking, being almost strangers; even a pat on the back seemed inappropriate. I called a big fat bullshit on the situation and made my apologies to leave. After all, I really did want to go to the gym – I didn’t even need to make up an excuse.

I said my goodbyes, politely wished for the best out-loud and left the hustle and bustle of Sunday UpMarket for the yummy-mummy-chaos of Spitalfields across the road and beyond.

Suddenly, on my way to the gym, I realised I was right outside the fore-mentioned Pret on Bishopsgate and thought it was the least I could to ask inside if anyone had handed it in.

Like the proactive, Samaritan I sometimes claim to be, I waited in line for an opportunity to strike up a conversation about a women’s purse that wasn’t mine, that could like anything because I hadn’t ever seen it, and a name on the inside that I only half-knew with someone that only really wants to know whether I want a mocha or a cappuccino.

It was then that I noticed the inspiration and the original point of this post; Pret have installed Paywave! Whoop Whoop! Another fancy chain of coffee shops has become a little bit more accessible to me… there is now another chain of coffee shops I can no longer walk past and still think it isn’t easy as it used to be to buy a hot drink I don’t need.

Ecstatic about my discovery but concerned about the new low my excitement is triggered by, I reach the counter. Refraining from giving the new payment method a whirl, I ask about the non-descript lady’s wallet – I even make an oblong shape with my thumbs and index fingers to illustrate it’s potential form.

The service assistant looked puzzled at first, then his eyes lit up as if he knew the exact wallet I was talking about, my hopes were lifted from the gutter and…

“No, someone probably stole it. You should ring the police. People steal things like that.” He replied – still with the look of realisation on his face.

I was puzzled by his expressions but not surprised. I didn’t expect him to have found the wallet, let alone with its contents still in place. I said thank you, he asked me if I wanted coffee, I gave in and said yes just so I could play with the contactless system, the coffee came, the Paywave machines weren’t online yet, I had to pay on my scabby debit without showing off, and then I left with a luke-warm, overpriced coffee that I really didn’t want.

But at least I left with my wallet, my identity and my cards still in tact and in my pocket. If that had happened to me I would have lost my only way of paying for anything, my Oyster card, my ID and almost as importantly; my ‘go to the loo for free’ card when playing Ring-of-Fire drinking game!

Crap coffee aside, my Sunday was a lot better than my friend’s.

 

The Honest Truth

Today I was waiting outside Liverpool  street station for a friend. She was running a little late so I got comfy leaning on a pillar by the bishops gate entrance. It was bloody freezing.

I couldn’t have been there long, only a few minutes at best, before a woman approached asking if I could help her. I said maybe.

“I’m homeless, you see.” She said. “I can get into the shelter if I can get  two fifty.”

“Sorry, I don’t carry cash.” I replied. Staring at me like I was a heartless liar, she turned on nearly-new
Addidas sneaker heels and made a B-line for the next lingering Londoner.

Her look really pissed me off, I wasn’t a liar, I don’t carry cash and, although I’m sure she gets palmed off with that line all the time by people who actually do have shrapnel in their pockets, I didn’t appreciate being the receiver of a disappointed, disbelieving frown from someone clearly faining homelessness.

I was now waiting in the cold and a mood. Where the hell was my friend?!

Again, only moments later, another person approached, politely and humbly asking for ‘just a bit of money for a coffee”. If anyone reading this has spent more and an hour in or around Spitalfields on the weekend, you will have encountered this man; long brown hair, stubble, relatively gaunt with a crutch that is only needed in the presence of others.

I’ve lived here for years and know this guy only too well, a prolific beggar who has a bit of a habit of taking it way too far. He once came all the way into a restaurant to ask my friends for money, when they said that they weren’t willing to and didn’t like being disturbed whilst they’re eating, he told them they were as bad as Nazis!

I wasn’t having any of it from him and told him to leave me alone.

This was beginning to really suck and I was just about ready to ditch my friend and head off for hassle free pastures elsewhere.

About to leave, a girl came up to me. She was about my age and had an absolutely massive rucksack on her back, she didn’t look homeless but considering the first two didn’t either, I wasn’t prepared to presume otherwise.

“Excuse me?” She said.
“No.” I replied.
“What?”
“You’re going to ask me for money, and I don’t have any. I never have any money.” I said, really quite sharply. I already felt like a bit of a dick.
“No I wasn’t actually. I was going to ask you if you knew which way Shoreditch High Street was.” Now I definitely felt like a complete prick. How unbelievably obnoxious of me!!!!
“Sorry.” I meekly replied. “It is up the road, this road literally becomes the High Street. I am, really sorry.”

She didn’t say anything in return, she just walked off and who could possibly blame her! What a terrible thing to have done…

Now at home, in the warmth I’m no longer annoyed by the two people asking for cash but I do still feel bad for the poor girl I presumed was one of them and obviously wasn’t. If, in the odd-chance she should ever read this, I am very, very sorry!

In the entire time I have been doing Losing Face, I have only ever once wished I had cash to give to someone, it was months ago when London began to get really cold and wet. I was on a date with a girl that at the time I barely knew, but is now my girlfriend.

We were walking along the Southbank, getting to know each other and doing a very bad job of flirting with each other. A man sat on a park bench in wet, dirty, torn clothes was almost motionless. As we passed him he murmured a request for some money, his voice was broken and rasp and every sound was desperate – I really felt genuinely sorry for not being able to give the man anything at all as all the shops nearby were shut and I obviously didn’t have any money.

Then I noticed something heartbreaking; he wasn’t wearing any shoes! His feet were swollen and pink, in fact they were almost unrecognisable – I couldn’t have imagined walking 20 metres without shoes on in that weather, let alone spending even one night outside in the cold. My heart really went out to him.

Thankfully Netta had some change that she could give him and he seemed so humbly grateful toward her, I was happy that at least one of us could do something, however small. If I had been down their on my own and had been able to help in any way I would have felt unearthly terrible.

In the instance of aid and benevolence, there are clearly times when not carrying cash can be a blessing and a curse on one’s conscience.

Perks of Cash pt.1

It is quite rare that I would be writing about a situation in which I wish I used cash regularly. Occasionally I will moan about not being able to buy stuff at the markets or carboot sales, it frustrates me to high hell that sometimes I can’t buy a coffee somewhere small and independent instead of Starbucks or EAT – but it won’t be long before that isn’t the case anymore.

This, however, is something that can only happen with cash (as far as I know) and it is a crying shame that the more we move away from cash, the less this will be able to happen.

In Manchester today, a cash machine malfunctioned and started spewing out twice the money requested by its users! Brilliant! News spread fast when someone realised that it wasn’t actually recording the withdrawals either! Even more brilliant!

Now that is certainly a way to shed the ‘crunch’ blues!

Read about it here.

Thanks to Crusty for the heads up.

Across the Ether and the Airwaves

Two posts in three days! Personal New Years Resolution #4, “Start writing more, StumbleVideo less”, is off to a fine start!

This is only brief though, it is to point you all in the direction of the Contactless Intelligence website on which you will find a podcast conversation between myself and Steve Atkins. Throughout 2008 I involved in a number of different interviews with different media-people, this was certainly one of the more interesting for me – the conversation blissfully transcends the fascination with the fact that this started off as a bet into a far more indepth analysis of how I was surviving and what I was learning about our spending society.

Check it out at here! Thanks to CI for the interest and the exposure.

Another enjoyable interview was with David Birch from Digital Money Forum, an author of a blog that I regularly check up on and enjoy.

You can hear that one here. Although it involves a little bit of scrolling.

It was an absolute high to end my first year without cash with interest from such respectable groups of people working in digital commerce and transaction development… I know that sounds odd and potentially a little mundane to the average shopper but if you think about the Chip and Pin revolution only a few years ago and how much that has positively affected our lives, and what dizzy potential there is for new technology for paying for things it quickly becomes utterly enthralling and it is an honour to be a part of that thinking even in such a small capacity.

Amongst all this new technology and future design, hearing my own voice still makes my skin crawl though.

It is over… for now.

Over a month ago my year of living without the Queen’s profile in my life ended. It had been an interesting year with ups and downs like any other, it just seemed like a lot of the down-moments were exacerbated by my cashless existence.

The amount of times that all I wanted to do was pig out on chocolate and ice cream from the local newsagents but needed to blow a £5er that I usually didn’t have in the first instance to do so. All the occasions I wanted to stay out and continue my night with friends but couldn’t convince the door staff of the club to let me in without paying a cash cover charge. Even all the times when all I wanted was to pick up a coffee from a market stall and wonder around Broadway Market – I can confidently say that on a number of occasions, I really felt like I was missing out.

That being said, I have to remind myself why I started the saga in the first instance; I think I knew before I even started that there would be sacrifices, otherwise everyone would be living without cash and this wouldn’t have been anything new!

So there was a number of things I could no longer do, it just happened that a number of them were very important to me whereas they may not be to others.

On a positive note? Well the biggest bonus was accomplishing what I had set out to achieve, I lived for an entire year without depending on the queen’s currency to survive.

I also learnt a lot about my own spending habits and my own perception of money (cash and electronic); I learnt that I was a habitual spender, I would blow the shrapnel in my pocket for a coffee I don’t need because I could, I’d buy another plain white T-shirt because I just happened to walk past Gap…

So much of my consumption just wasn’t necessary and I’m almost certain it was the actual transaction between my wallet and the cashier’s register that I was hooked on.

I also became acutely aware of other people’s perception [and sometimes obsession] with cash. Be it the man wafting a £20 note at a bar expecting to be served sooner, or the old women flaunting their pension money at each other – both insisting that they will pick up the cheque for two cups of tea and slice of carrot cake, almost squabbling over whose £10 note will be picked up by the uninterested waiting staff.

I was amazed as to how quickly I became frustrated with the general reluctance to leave cash in so many situations in which it was the slower, more frustrating way of paying for something. I am still confused as to why we still rely so heavily on such a cumbersome and outdated method, it just doesn’t make any sense!

So, anyway… the point of this post was to recall the delights of my first day back in the cashless world, the first day which [unsurprisingly maybe] was also one of my last forever.

I had decided, months earlier, that I was going to celebrate the year long milestone by doing the thing I had missed most; the markets! I also thought that it might be the perfect opportunity to say a big thank you to all the friends that had supported me.

The plan: To invite a select group of close and kind friends for coffee and breakfast at Columbia Road market in East London on the first Sunday after the year was over. Perfect.

Two birds, one stone, and a whole load of cash.

Well, in the end, being a Sunday morning, most of my friends were hungover and asleep all morning so the majority of my guest list was embarrassingly missing – serves me right for picking a Sunday morning I guess!

One friend made it though, and we were going to meet outside Shoreditch Church at 9.30am.

I left the house ridiculously early – after all, I knew that if I didn’t get up when I woke up I’d end up lying around in bed all morning, it just happened to be much earlier than necessary.

Arriving at the church half an hour early, I decided I’d walk down to the cash point on Shoreditch High Street to get the cash out, Oh but what a surprise I had when the cash point was empty! I should have known, the morning after the night before, Christmas party season, the east end – I didn’t stand much chance.

With a bit of a giggle, I turned around wondered where another cash point might be, it had been year since I had last needed one, so I was more than a little lost. Walking back up the high street I noticed one in the service station shop, knowing it was about to sting me a £1.50+ surcharge for using the damn thing, I sighed, shrugged my shoulders and went for it anyway, it was a celebration and what is a measly £1.50 when I’ve been blissfully not using the bastard things?!

Smiling at the irony of falling at the first hurdle quickly turned to a frown of frustration when the second ATM machine was ‘out of order’. What are the chances? Maybe this happens a lot and I had just forgotten about the rigmarole or withdrawing your own money in cash? Either way, I was starting to get pissed off.

Finally, on the third attempt, after walking however far out of my way, I finally managed to find a working cash point and withdraw £20.

Phew.

Thinking the ball-ache was over, I headed back to the meeting point, met my friend and we went to the market happy and celebratory.

Columbia Road market was everything I remember it being, vibrant, colourful, loud and fucking ram-packed with people. Even at 9am the road was choc-a-bloc with premed and perfect people, up early to stock up on flowers to liven up their homes. Things weren’t going to plan.

When we finally managed to battle our way through the hoards of people to the café I had been longing to go to for a year, it felt even busier than the bustling market street outside, there wasn’t room to stand, let alone sit and enjoy breakfast. Things really weren’t going to plan.

We trudged aimlessly up and down trying to find an alternative for  while before giving up and walking away from the crowds, back towards the main road, by this point hungry and aching legs from walking at a snails pace took over and priority was breakfast and caffeine, screw the location, screw the picturesque and impractical ideal I had harboured in my head for weeks in anticipation and screw ever single one of the beautiful couples strolling about, looking wonderful and spending reams of cash on flowers that won’t see out the week. Screw it all to hell.

We ended up at a little place I had been to loads in the last year, essentially because it was close to the market and they accept cards, this café had become my ‘next best thing’, it was everything I was trying to counter in this [now completely marred] celebration.

Still, we sat in the warm, we caught up, we drank tea and ate a proper hearty breakfast, all was not lost and, after it all, I still ended up paying by card!

I think it is fair to assume I am going to continue these cashless antics, soon enough it will catch on I am sure.