In short, the plan hasn’t really, err, gone to plan. Not at all in fact. So I am having a very, very, very quiet September in order to start saving up. When I was little our local supermarket offered a “save for Christmas” scheme where you could buy tokens, value £1 each, whenever you shopped there. You kept them together and then cashed them in with the turkey.

Post the whole Farepak debacle, and with headlines declaring Christmas cancelled, the idea of putting away your hard-earned pennies each month has rather fallen out of favour. However, if you too have got to the end of August and realised the next public holiday is one which requires you to stage some sort of smash and grab on Bluewater, then here are my words of wisdom (clearly, worth the paper they’re written on).

Firstly, ask you bank to set up a savings account for you and direct debit what you can from your salary into this. Even if it’s just a tenner, by the time we hit the big C you’ll have enough for one undemanding child’s stocking. DO NOT then let them give you internet banking whereby you can see exactly how much you have in said savings account and transfer it back into your current account at the touch of a button. Had someone given me this knowledge ten years ago my account would now contain significantly more than 72p.

Buy presents in advance. Surely there will be a sales period before we reach December? I can’t keep track of when the shops wheel out their discount racks but anytime you see neon signs in the window feel free to head on in. Just make sure you purchase wrapping paper in advance. If you don’t wrap them up you will use them for your own nefarious purposes and whilst there are some presents where you can get away with this (that scarf for your sister for example) there are other presents where you can’t (no-one wants a box of chocolates only containing the coffee creams). In the short-term you may have to spend more on sellotape, there’s no point in wrapping them so loosely that you can just get into them, but you will save on repeat gift buying.

Most importantly, whilst I bow to Kirstie Allsop in her house buying skills, do not believe her about “make your own” presents. They are NOT cheaper. Last year I undertook to make plum vodka as a cheaper but infinitely more personal present. First you buy the bottles (£25 for 6), then you buy the plums, then you buy the sugar and finally you buy the vodka. You start with good intentions and think you’ll make it from Smirnoff but at £12 a bottle you soon realise it would be cheaper to get Mohammed Al-Fayed to pick out everyone’s gifts from his shop floor, so quickly switch to Tesco value vodka.

As a general rule, gifts cannot be judged. They all come under the heading of “it’s the thought that counts”. Unless of course the thought is “I’d rather risk you having your stomach pumped at the local hospital than actually buy you something”. When that’s the case, no-one seems to care that you’ve made the emetic yourself.

I recently consolidated all my debts into one “easily repayable loan”. By the time I’m 32 I should be debt free if I can just keep myself out of trouble in the meantime. Then I’ll have to get a deposit that’s equal to my current salary together. Then I’ll have to double my salary to be able to afford the repayments. The long and the short of it is that I’m not going to be a property owner any time soon. But before you get out the violins, a lot of this is my own fault. Yes, property in London is ridiculously expensive. Yes, I have been screwed over by living during a boom time for buy-to-lets who pushed the prices up and took out first time buyers. But really, I’ve been working for 7 years now, I could have saved something. So, here are some tips for the rest of you.

The ridiculous thing about debt is that once you’re in it, getting out is basically impossible. The clearest example of this is credit cards. Many years ago I made my first balance transfer, moving a fairly minor £1200 from my Barclaycard to an Egg card. Thinking that I’d paid the entire of the Barclaycard off, I cancelled my direct debit, didn’t open the statement and probably had a cup of tea and a piece of cake.

So imagine my surprise when when I received a call from Barclaycard a few months later. Because I had transferred the balance early in the month (but not on the very first day), I had accrued £1.33 in interest. I hadn’t paid that interest off, so they fined me £35. I didn’t pay the fine or the interest, and so they fined me again. Suddenly I owed them nearly £150. Clearly, Barclaycard are bastards (that’s a given) but I didn’t watch it closely enough and that little bit of debt ended up costing me a good three pairs of shoes.

There’s also a sort of insane, don’t give a fuck, crazy feeling that comes from being in debt. The only time someone offered to sell me drugs I thought they were asking for directions so I can’t comment on what it feels like to be a drug addict, but there does reach a point where you just stop caring. Where you feel so far gone that a little further (in my case about 5000 miles to Cuba, total cost around a grand) doesn’t seem that big a deal.

And the final thing I know… sometimes it’s fun. Sure, I’m not going to own a flat anytime soon (or ever) but just now and then I’ve lived a little. And if it cost some money, it was worth it.

Except the hypnosis. It doesn’t work, don’t waste your money.

I have fallen off the wagon. But then you knew that didn’t you? I haven’t been here. Haven’t been able to face coming up with jolly ways to stick to your ten pound a day budget when secretly my spending has been creeping up and up.

It’s only a pound here, I told myself. I need those make-up remover pads, can’t last with a flannel. Buying a book on “The 80 minute MBA” will make me a better employee, get me a promotion, earn me more money. My best friend has broken her leg, I have to go up to Liverpool to see her. And when I’m there I have to have three courses at lunch. And I needed that round of shots I bought. I mean, she needed them. Everyone knows, when you’ve got a broken leg, vodka shots are the answer. Oooh, maybe I could go on MasterChef, £665 on a cookery course is nothing.

Don’t worry, I didn’t book the last one. The adrenalin rush of spending that much money made my hand shake. I couldn’t get the mouse to click on the “buy” button.

It was only as I paid for my third dinner out in a week and realised I’d spent £120 in three days and had absolutely nothing to show for it, that I knew I wasn’t just going slightly over budget. In Hollywood terms I was driving down the highway on the wrong side of the road, whilst leaving racist and abusive messages on my ex-wife’s answer phone. (Hi Mel!)

The problem is that I’m not sure exactly what to do to get myself back on the wagon.

Google (surely the wise old woman of the 21st century) threw up the following pieces of wisdom:

1. Love yourself. Apparently, the reason most people fail is because they have too black and white an attitude to failure. In the words of AA, a drink equals a drunk. Whilst this seems logical to me (I’m an all or all sort of a girl), psychologically I’m just condemning myself to failure. So, deep breath, next time I’ll do better. Urgh, I hate self-help.

2. Cut out red meat to start. Ok, so this is more one for those vegetarians who’ve found themselves pulling into MaccyD’s for a quick midnight snack. But the theory counts. Cut down on the big stuff first and work your way slowly towards your goal. Ha! I’ve already succeeded at this, didn’t book that cookery course, did I? Half way there already.

3. You are not alone. There are both aliens and addicts out there and Google knows all of them (when Aliens do land and want to know all about our earth we’ll send them to Google, which will send them to Wikipedia, it will be a revisionist sort of history they take back with them). I’m not the only one with huge debts and big worries and while I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, it’s nice to know I’m not alone. Hello all, my name’s BirdonaBudget and I’m a shopaholic, let’s hug it out.

After a few pilates classes at £7 each, a group of friends and I have founded our own class. Hosted in Iso’s bedroom on an evening that suits all of us each week, we bring in various exercise DVDs and work our way through them with varying degrees of success.

In a moment of brash confidence, we rejected the Pilates for Beginners DVD and have moved onto Pilaetes Perfect Body – hosted by an extremely smiley, thoroughly annoying Los Angeleno. But we’re getting better. And three weeks in, no-one shows any signs of quitting, which is miraculous.

There are numerous studies showing that exercising with people makes it easier to stick to, and I think we’re proof. Now if we could only not ruin it by following the DVD with takeaway pizza and wine…

The first was with my friend Ollie who I haven’t seen for months and months. He was asking how my new job was going, and I was waxing lyrical on the joys of working for a company which provides a pension. We then both got geekily excited about the joys of house-owning (I know, I go to some riotous parties!). It turns out that the reason I haven’t seen Ollie is because for the last year he’s been living the life of a hermit, saving 40% of his salary in order to get together the deposit for a flat.

The second was with a guy called Andy. The boyfriend of a friend of a friend, I hadn’t met him before. He’s in a band who are trying to break through and get a record deal. He wants to spend the rest of his life writing and playing music. We talked about the difference of writing for work and writing for fun. And then he asked me what I wanted to do in the future, what was the grand plan. And I realised, I don’t have one.

I want a dog. I’d like to not have to work, but then again, wouldn’t everyone? Do I want my own house? Do I even want to stay in this country? What’s the dream?

Together both conversations raise the question of, what is this for? Yes, I’ll pay off some of my debts by the end of it but then what? It’s a big old question. I’ll think about it tomorrow…

I love Wimbledon. I love the tennis, the strawberries and cream, the Pimms, the general English-ness of it all. Also, boys, if you’re looking for a cheap date, it’s a fun day out. A grounds pass costs from £12.50 up. If you don’t mind queuing get their early, otherwise go at about 4pm. There’s no queue and still lots of tennis going on. You used to be able to buy centre court tickets from those who had left but for some reason they’ve put a stop to that.

The ex-boy and I went last year on our first proper date. Top tip, if you’re driving and going late in the evening you can easily park in one of the official car parks, just look confident as you drive through. He paid for the tickets. I bought the Pimms. We sat on Henman hill and watched some doubles. It didn’t rain.

Sometimes being on a budget is a good thing. You can’t afford to go back, so you have to go forward.

I happen to live in a bit of London that is all snazzy, penthouse apartments and miles away from anything useful like a tube. Or a corner shop. Needless to say, eventually someone came in and made the most of this (if I’d had half a brain it would have been me, damnit). Our local grocery shop charges double what it would get away with anywhere else and everyone just pays it. The alternative is a twenty minute walk to Sainsburys and when you just want a packet of gum that’s a long way to go.

I realised I was being ripped off when I paid £1.18p for a packet of biscuits which had “RRP 59p” clearly marked on the side. And yet… it’s just so convenient.

However, the Metro this morning made me feel thoroughly ashamed. Whilst whittling on about how we shouldn’t feel bad about food miles, it mentioned the Fife diet – eating only what’s been grown locally. Apparently, by trying to source their food from nearby suppliers a family were saving £10 a week – which when you’re living on £45 a week is nothing to be sniffed out.

Sadly, I fear it’s the “Fife” diet for a reason. It’s much easier to find cheap produce out in the countrified wilds of Scotland than in the rarefied air of South West London. You would think a big city would provide more choice and drive prices down but sadly not.

Still, I am being more choosy about where I shop and (with the exception of late night biscuit cravings) I’m also putting more effort into it. Well, if you’re buying all your friends’ birthday presents from charity shops they deserve a little extra effort.

But there’s a big challenge coming up. I’m off to a black-tie “do” with work in a few weeks time. The only dress I own at the moment which is smart enough is rather lacking in the chest coverage department – not work appropriate. So, if you see a short, dumpy blonde muttering murderously as she wades through the rails of tatty ’80s dresses at a charity shop near you, come over and say hi. And offer to buy me a coffee, I’ll need one.

Just a quick one to promote someone I clearly need to learn from. Mark Boyle is the founder of the Freeconomy Community and has lived without money for 18 months (madness!). He’s just written this very interesting article on how to go on holiday for free. Given that all I’m thinking about at the moment is a week on a beach (with a suitably tanned and toned waiter bringing me cocktails) it’s struck a bit of a chord.

I’m just not sure that I’m the walking and camping in the forest sort of a girl. Surely a holiday should get you away from the horror of the day to day, not make life worse?

1. Chocolate. If someone works out how to live without it please give me the secret, as I have no idea. I’m only thankful that my leanings are towards Dairy Milk rather than Green & Blacks.

2. Books. Thank god for the library and for the nice staff in Waterstones allowing me to read for hours in their comfy chairs.

3. Internet access. I can justify this one too… many things are available for less on the internet, therefore it makes good financial sense to have access to it! Tada!

4. My phone. For the days when you just need to talk to someone.

5. A good beautician. Pick the right one and they’ll transform the way you look, as well as giving you the occassional freebie.

So, whilst I might not go so far to say that money buys happiness, in the wise words of my mother, “it can definitely rent it for a very long time!” But this week I found myself motivated by love rather than money.

My lovely friend Iso invited me dog-walking with her on Sunday morning. We took her little Dachsund, Matilda, up to Wimbledon Common and walked as far as our legs would take us. Until we reached the duck pond. Until Matilda spotted the Canadian Geese. Until 8 inch high Matilda decided to take on the aforementioned geese, single pawed.

She bounded up to them, vocal chords going hell for leather to make sure they knew she was coming and that she meant business. As they fled for the safety of the lake, Matilda stood on the side yapping with all her might. And then, with a final look at us, she took a flying leap into the water and paddled after the geese. And paddled and paddled. Right into the middle of the lake.

Iso and I stood, yelling, on the edge of the water. “MATILDA!! Come back here right now. MATIIIIIIIIIIIILDA!!”. But she took no notice, absolutely intent on pursuing the geese as fast as she could. And as we stood there, we saw her little paws beginning to slow down. Suddenly she was looking with longing at the shore. And for one horrible, slow minute I thought I saw her begin to sink. And I realised that without a second’s hesitation I would strip down to my underwear, in the middle of Wimbledon Common, I would brave the frogs-spawn and I would follow Matilda by leaping into the lake and swimming out to rescue her. It would have been a horrifying site for the nice family having a picnic just behind us.

Thankfully, realising her little legs were going to give way, Matilda made a heroic effort to return to the shore. There was a moment of panic when she attempted to save herself by resting on a lily-pad (not made for dogs) but she finally hauled herself up onto the bank.

And right there and then, I knew I would have given anything for her to be ok. I would have kept up the £10 a day for the rest of eternity if it guaranteed one, rather yappy, little dog’s safety. Or, more likely, I would have kept up the £10 a day to avoid having to strip off on Wimbledon Common. One or the other.