As I hurtle towards my dissertation deadline like a fucked microlite towards the hills, and the recession beckons imminent graduates into it's dead-end embrace, one thought gives me hope. My future is secure. This is a girl in love, and in love with her own self-conscious naive optimism. Of course it doesn't matter that both Keir and I are very likely to hit the breadline as soon as my final loan goes. Of course we will be fine. Of course, because we have tha powah of lo-ove. We will saddle it up and ride it off into the sunset. Me, Keir and tha powah of lo-ove, making our fortune in a wilderness of unenployment, poverty and toil....
This year will be a test of our mettle. But I am confident we will be fine.
We are going to live on charity shops.
Charity shops for plates and mugs, clothes, kettles and ironing board covers. Charity shops for trinkets, books, coats, curtains. Charity shops. And freecycle, and ebay, and maybe a jumble sale or two. Secondhand life and all the riches it has to offer, as long as you have 50p. Of course we couldn't live entirely this way. Consumables must be new by definition. But I reckon people don't go to charity shops enough. An article in the paper recently predicted that in a few years, mending and making do will be thrown in the history bag, along with glass milk bottles and Sesame Street (my predictions, not theirs). Lets not be wasteful, chaps.
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