that I had to have one! Dad would have let me, but Mum as usual was more stern. She said I’d just spent all my Christmas money on what she called “useless rubbish” (meaning bangles and earrings and sparkly hair clips, which may be useless rubbish to Mum but certainly isn’t to me!) and if I wanted a personal organiser as badly as all that I could save up for it. I wailed that it would take me ages.
“I’ll be dead by the time I’ve saved up that much!”
So then Mum relented and said all right, if I could manage to save half she and Dad would come up with the other half. So I started to save, just little bits to begin with like the odd 20p, because I don’t have very much pocket money, well I don’t think I do, and I kept it in a jam jar with a plastic lid so that I could see how quickly it was mounting up. At first it didn’t seem to mount up at all, but then one day I suddenly noticed that the jam jar was almost quarter full, and I took out the money and counted it and it came to nearly £6. Six pounds that I had saved almost without realising it!
That was when it got a grip and I started to save in real earnest. I saved every penny that I could! I even picked up 1p pieces that people had dropped in the street. When the first jam jar was full, I started on a second one. By the time the second one was full I’d saved my half of the money and could have had my organiser any time I wanted, but now I didn’t want one. Well, I did, but I wanted the money more. I didn’t want to
do
anything with the money; I just wanted to see it mounting up. I had become a money junkie! I was a secret hoarder!
I might have been hoarding to this day if something hadn’t happened to break the cycle. It was only a little something, but that is often all it takes. Quite suddenly, for no reason, the whole of Year 6 went mad on body tattoos – the sort you stick on. If you didn’t walk round covered in them, you just weren’t cool. I begged Saffy to give me some of hers, but she wouldn’t. She said I’d become as mean as could be and could go out and buy some of my own. So I did, and that was the beginning of the end. We went to visit my auntie and uncle and they took us to the shopping centre at Brent Cross and I saw these really
superior
tattoos in a shop and I just couldn’t resist them, even though they were expensive.
I knew if I went to school with tattoos like that I’d be the coolest person there. I spent the whole of my pocket money on body tattoos! And that was that. Once I’d broken the habit, I couldn’t get back into it again. I didn’t even get the personal organiser; I just frittered the money away on more of what Mum called “rubbish”.
So this is how it was with me and slimming, except that instead of money mounting up, it was kilos going
down.
I bought a red felt tip, a fine liner, and used it to mark the tape measure. Every time I measured myself, I made a little mark. At first, just as with the money in the jam jar, nothing very much seemed to be happening and it would have been all too easy to be discouraged, except that this time I was
determined.
And then, suddenly, the red mark moved! In the right direction, I hasten to add. Week by week, it kept on moving. Just a millimetre at a time, to begin with, then one Saturday a whole half centimetre! I could hardly contain myself! I immediately tried on every single skirt and pair of jeans in my wardrobe and discovered to my joy that some of them that I’d had difficulty fitting into now did up quite easily. It was working! I was getting thin!
There came a day when I actually had to use a safety pin to take in the waistband of my school skirt and pull in the belt on my jeans really tight to stop them slipping down. It just felt
so good.
Zoë looked at me in the changing room one Friday, as we were getting into our leotards. She did this double take and said, “Hey! Eleflump!” which was what she had taken to calling me. “Are you on a diet, or
“I’ll be dead by the time I’ve saved up that much!”
So then Mum relented and said all right, if I could manage to save half she and Dad would come up with the other half. So I started to save, just little bits to begin with like the odd 20p, because I don’t have very much pocket money, well I don’t think I do, and I kept it in a jam jar with a plastic lid so that I could see how quickly it was mounting up. At first it didn’t seem to mount up at all, but then one day I suddenly noticed that the jam jar was almost quarter full, and I took out the money and counted it and it came to nearly £6. Six pounds that I had saved almost without realising it!
That was when it got a grip and I started to save in real earnest. I saved every penny that I could! I even picked up 1p pieces that people had dropped in the street. When the first jam jar was full, I started on a second one. By the time the second one was full I’d saved my half of the money and could have had my organiser any time I wanted, but now I didn’t want one. Well, I did, but I wanted the money more. I didn’t want to
do
anything with the money; I just wanted to see it mounting up. I had become a money junkie! I was a secret hoarder!
I might have been hoarding to this day if something hadn’t happened to break the cycle. It was only a little something, but that is often all it takes. Quite suddenly, for no reason, the whole of Year 6 went mad on body tattoos – the sort you stick on. If you didn’t walk round covered in them, you just weren’t cool. I begged Saffy to give me some of hers, but she wouldn’t. She said I’d become as mean as could be and could go out and buy some of my own. So I did, and that was the beginning of the end. We went to visit my auntie and uncle and they took us to the shopping centre at Brent Cross and I saw these really
superior
tattoos in a shop and I just couldn’t resist them, even though they were expensive.
I knew if I went to school with tattoos like that I’d be the coolest person there. I spent the whole of my pocket money on body tattoos! And that was that. Once I’d broken the habit, I couldn’t get back into it again. I didn’t even get the personal organiser; I just frittered the money away on more of what Mum called “rubbish”.
So this is how it was with me and slimming, except that instead of money mounting up, it was kilos going
down.
I bought a red felt tip, a fine liner, and used it to mark the tape measure. Every time I measured myself, I made a little mark. At first, just as with the money in the jam jar, nothing very much seemed to be happening and it would have been all too easy to be discouraged, except that this time I was
determined.
And then, suddenly, the red mark moved! In the right direction, I hasten to add. Week by week, it kept on moving. Just a millimetre at a time, to begin with, then one Saturday a whole half centimetre! I could hardly contain myself! I immediately tried on every single skirt and pair of jeans in my wardrobe and discovered to my joy that some of them that I’d had difficulty fitting into now did up quite easily. It was working! I was getting thin!
There came a day when I actually had to use a safety pin to take in the waistband of my school skirt and pull in the belt on my jeans really tight to stop them slipping down. It just felt
so good.
Zoë looked at me in the changing room one Friday, as we were getting into our leotards. She did this double take and said, “Hey! Eleflump!” which was what she had taken to calling me. “Are you on a diet, or
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