Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle by Sophie Kinsella Page A
Authors: Sophie Kinsella
Ads: Link
because on Saturday, I receive a card of a pre-Raphaelite girl looking coyly over her shoulder. Inside, Tarquin has written:
Many apologies for my uncouth behavior. I hope to make it up to you. Tickets to Bayreuth—or, failing that, dinner?
Tarquin
.
Dinner with Tarquin. Can you imagine? And what’s he going on about, anyway? I’ve never heard of Bayreuth. Is it a new show or something? Or does he mean Beirut? Why would we want to go to Beirut, for God’s sake?
Anyway, I’ve got more important things to think about today. This is my sixth day of Cutting Back—and, crucially, my first weekend. David E. Barton says this is often when one’s frugal regime cracks, as the office routine is no longer there as a distraction and the day stretches empty, waiting to be filled with the familiar comfort of shopping.
But I’m too strong-willed to crack. I’ve got my day completelysussed—and I’m not going
near
any shops. This morning I’m going to visit a museum and then tonight, instead of wasting lots of money on an expensive takeaway, I’m cooking a homemade curry for me and Suze. I’m actually quite excited about it.
My entire budget for today is as follows:
Travel to museum:
free (I already have a travelcard)
Museum:
free
Curry:
£2.50 (David E. Barton says you can make a wonderful curry for four people for less than £5.00—and there are only two of us.)
Total daily expenditure:
£2.50
That’s more like it. Plus I get to experience culture instead of mindless materialism. I have chosen the Victoria & Albert Museum because I have never been to it before. In fact, I’m not even sure what they have in it. Statues of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, or something?
Anyway, whatever they have, it will be very interesting and stimulating, I’m sure. And above all, free!
As I come out of South Kensington tube, the sun’s shining brightly and I stride along, feeling pleased with myself. Normally I waste my Saturday mornings watching
Live and Kicking
and getting ready to go to the shops. But look at this! I suddenly feel very grown-up and metropolitan, like someone in a Woody Allen film. I just need a long woolly scarf and some sunglasses and I’ll look like Diane Keaton.
And on Monday, when people ask me how my weekend was, I’ll be able to say, “Actually, I went to the V&A.” No, what I’ll say is “I caught an exhibition.” That sounds much cooler. (Why
do
people say they “caught” an exhibition, by the way? It’s not as though all the paintings were thundering past like bulls at Pamplona.)Then they’ll say, “Really? I didn’t know you were into art, Rebecca.” And I’ll say, “Oh yes. I spend most of my free time at museums.” And they’ll give me an impressed look and say …
Come to think of it, I’ve walked straight past the entrance. Silly me. Too busy thinking about the conversation between me and … actually, the person I realize I’ve pictured in this little scene is Luke Brandon. How weird. Why should that be? Because I table-hopped with him, I suppose. Anyway. Concentrate. Museum.
Quickly I retrace my steps and walk nonchalantly into the entrance hall, trying to look as though I come here all the time. Not like that bunch of Japanese tourists clustering round their guide. Ha! I think proudly, I’m no tourist. This is my heritage.
My
culture. I pick up a map carelessly as though I don’t really need it, and look at a list of talks on things like
Ceramics of the Yuan and Early Ming Dynasties
. Then, casually, I begin to walk through to the first gallery.
“Excuse me?” A woman at a desk is calling to me. “Have you paid?”
Have I
what?
You don’t have to pay to get into museums! Oh, of course—she’s just joking with me. I give a friendly little laugh, and carry on.
“Excuse me!” she says, in a sharper voice, and a bloke in security uniform appears out of nowhere. “Have you paid for admission?”
“It’s free!” I say in surprise.
“I’m
Many apologies for my uncouth behavior. I hope to make it up to you. Tickets to Bayreuth—or, failing that, dinner?
Tarquin
.
Dinner with Tarquin. Can you imagine? And what’s he going on about, anyway? I’ve never heard of Bayreuth. Is it a new show or something? Or does he mean Beirut? Why would we want to go to Beirut, for God’s sake?
Anyway, I’ve got more important things to think about today. This is my sixth day of Cutting Back—and, crucially, my first weekend. David E. Barton says this is often when one’s frugal regime cracks, as the office routine is no longer there as a distraction and the day stretches empty, waiting to be filled with the familiar comfort of shopping.
But I’m too strong-willed to crack. I’ve got my day completelysussed—and I’m not going
near
any shops. This morning I’m going to visit a museum and then tonight, instead of wasting lots of money on an expensive takeaway, I’m cooking a homemade curry for me and Suze. I’m actually quite excited about it.
My entire budget for today is as follows:
Travel to museum:
free (I already have a travelcard)
Museum:
free
Curry:
£2.50 (David E. Barton says you can make a wonderful curry for four people for less than £5.00—and there are only two of us.)
Total daily expenditure:
£2.50
That’s more like it. Plus I get to experience culture instead of mindless materialism. I have chosen the Victoria & Albert Museum because I have never been to it before. In fact, I’m not even sure what they have in it. Statues of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, or something?
Anyway, whatever they have, it will be very interesting and stimulating, I’m sure. And above all, free!
As I come out of South Kensington tube, the sun’s shining brightly and I stride along, feeling pleased with myself. Normally I waste my Saturday mornings watching
Live and Kicking
and getting ready to go to the shops. But look at this! I suddenly feel very grown-up and metropolitan, like someone in a Woody Allen film. I just need a long woolly scarf and some sunglasses and I’ll look like Diane Keaton.
And on Monday, when people ask me how my weekend was, I’ll be able to say, “Actually, I went to the V&A.” No, what I’ll say is “I caught an exhibition.” That sounds much cooler. (Why
do
people say they “caught” an exhibition, by the way? It’s not as though all the paintings were thundering past like bulls at Pamplona.)Then they’ll say, “Really? I didn’t know you were into art, Rebecca.” And I’ll say, “Oh yes. I spend most of my free time at museums.” And they’ll give me an impressed look and say …
Come to think of it, I’ve walked straight past the entrance. Silly me. Too busy thinking about the conversation between me and … actually, the person I realize I’ve pictured in this little scene is Luke Brandon. How weird. Why should that be? Because I table-hopped with him, I suppose. Anyway. Concentrate. Museum.
Quickly I retrace my steps and walk nonchalantly into the entrance hall, trying to look as though I come here all the time. Not like that bunch of Japanese tourists clustering round their guide. Ha! I think proudly, I’m no tourist. This is my heritage.
My
culture. I pick up a map carelessly as though I don’t really need it, and look at a list of talks on things like
Ceramics of the Yuan and Early Ming Dynasties
. Then, casually, I begin to walk through to the first gallery.
“Excuse me?” A woman at a desk is calling to me. “Have you paid?”
Have I
what?
You don’t have to pay to get into museums! Oh, of course—she’s just joking with me. I give a friendly little laugh, and carry on.
“Excuse me!” she says, in a sharper voice, and a bloke in security uniform appears out of nowhere. “Have you paid for admission?”
“It’s free!” I say in surprise.
“I’m
Similar Books
