There are varying degrees of skintness

Molly Gunn, Editor - 26 Jul 23

I’m feeling the pinch.  Holidays drench Instagram, I have FOMO. I’m meant to be in Andalusia, but I can’t afford flights. Turns out, budget airlines such as EasyJet aren’t so ‘budget’ any more. Travelling with 3 children is a wallet-dredge, and not just in peak season. Our last trip away to London in February almost broke me. In fact, a 5 minute trip to Budgens empties my purse. Budgens is not budget, either.

I’m so proud of the sunnies in the cover picture, because they were £10 from a petrol station. “You must be loaded, you’ve got nice sunglasses,” someone said to me recently. But looks can be deceiving.

The bills keep flowing in! For this that and the other. My kids are on school holiday and I need to amuse them. “Just pop them in a club!” Friends say breezily, as I tot up that 3 kids in a club at £35 a day each, equates to double my mortgage. Let’s not talk about mortgages going up, I’ll cry.

Brown envelopes arrive, and I don’t open them. Does leaving the envelope sealed, magically make the bill disappear? I dig my heels in to fees from big corps run by fat-cat bosses, probably sunning it on a yacht c/o fat cat bonuses. HMRC bills make my head spin.

My orange Monzo card bounces: DECLINED. It feels so cold. But that’s not the worst: last week, a bailiff knocked at my door. Apparently, my old shop has small rates relief owing. South Somerset Council only just got round to calling it in, ‘cos of Covid. A bailiff? Dickensian! I fired off angry emails and asked the council to be reasonable. They gave me a months grace.

The icky feeling of a bailiff coming to my door demanding money or possessions, made me feel uneasy. I’m articulate enough to fire off a successful ‘angry email’, but what if I wasn’t? What if I couldn’t properly speak the language? What if I didn’t have Wifi? What if I had a disability that hindered me? What if it was a landlord banging at the door demanding rent? What if I couldn’t pay or talk my way out of it? What if I had nowhere else to go?

Food banks are busier than ever, parents can’t afford baby formula, families are desperate, rents keep rising, homeless shelters fill up, and sky-high bills abound. Meanwhile listless kids on school holidays watch You Tube and beg cash-strapped parents for bottles of Prime and Mr Beast Chocolate. Credit – so easy! – feels like a silver lining; really a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Then there’s the drip feed on socials, of sunny holidays and shiny things. So close but yet so far. The juggle, and struggle is real and harsh. It’s harsher for some than others.

Yesterday, a judge found that Suella Braverman broke the law by deliberately withholding £3 a week due to asylum seeking pregnant women and young children. The judge heard that mothers were unable to feed their children, who were dangerously frail and lethargic. The government won’t let asylum seekers work, but they’ll withhold them basic food funds, so their children wither: now that’s Dickensian.

It’s a leveller. Even if I feel the pinch, I will unlikely feel that pinch. I won’t have to flee my country by unsafe means, to be denied a job or basic food for my kids. Suddenly I don’t feel so skint. I’ve just over stretched, I’m not at rock bottom. When the chips are down, I’ve got options. I’m employable. I’m white. I’m articulate. I’m able-bodied. Full-sighted. Middle aged, middle class. I can Airbnb my house. Sell my car. Sell my house even. Stop hustling and get a ‘proper job.’ If it truly went off the rails, my parents would squeeze my family in. They’d never see us destitute. I look around and see my home is cosy. It’s a good, safe, place to be. Even on a rainy day with zero bank balance, we still have Netflix and pasta. Suddenly my holiday FOMO seems indulgent. I remind myself: there are varying degrees of skintness.

Molly Gunn, Editor

Molly Gunn is the founder and editor of Selfish Mother, a site she created for like-minded women in 2013. Molly has been a journalist for over 15 years, starting out working on fashion desks at The Guardian, The Telegraph & ES Magazine before going freelance in 2006 to write for quality publications. She now edits Selfish Mother, sells #GoodTees to raise funds for charity, & writes freelance for Red Magazine and The Sunday Telegraph's Stella. Molly is mother to Rafferty, 6, Fox, 4, and baby Liberty. She is married to Tom aka music producer Tee Mango and founder of Millionhands. They live in Bruton, Somerset.

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