The drawer again

Here's a scene from some months later. It's an example of how things might go, and I'm not promising it.

It's a Thursday, and the post comes while you're putting your coat on. There are four things on the mat. You pick them up, and one of them has a window and an insurer's logo. You notice the old reflex, which has sized it up already and would like to put it down somewhere for later. You open that one first, standing in the hall.

It's the car insurance renewal. The renewal date is five weeks off. The new price is three hundred and forty pounds, up from three hundred and twelve. There's a number to ring.

The other three are a statement, a catalogue and a letter from the water company. The catalogue goes in the recycling on your way through the kitchen, and the statement goes in the folder. The water company letter says your direct debit is going down by four pounds a month, which is nice. The insurance letter goes in the tray on the fridge.

On Sunday after breakfast you sit down with the tray, the phone and the notebook. You write the date and your three numbers. There's six hundred and twelve in the account, four hundred and thirty still to go out before payday, and a hundred and eighty-two to live on. It's tighter than you'd like, and you knew that already, because you've seen it coming since the 9th. You've been easing off for a fortnight without much noticing.

Then the one thing for the week. You spend ten minutes on a comparison site and ring the insurer. "My renewal's come in at three hundred and forty, and I've been quoted two hundred and seventy elsewhere for the same cover. Can you do anything?" They can do two hundred and eighty-five. You take it. It took twelve minutes and it's worth fifty-five pounds. These figures are an example, and yours will differ.

The old second drawer in the kitchen has tea towels in it now.

Things won't always be this tidy. Some months will be tight whatever you do, and looking won't create money that isn't there. There'll be weeks when the tray gets ahead of you. But your card hasn't been declined since the spring. You've paid nothing in penalties. The hum that used to start when the letterbox rattled has mostly stopped, because there's nothing unopened in the house for it to attach to.

Most of what came through your door was dull, as it turned out, and a few things were small and had dates on them. The few that mattered were far easier to deal with in the week they arrived. They'd have been much harder after a season in the drawer.

If you do one thing after closing this book, put a date in your diary this week for emptying the drawer, and ask someone to keep you company. Tomorrow morning, while the kettle boils, open the app and look at the number for ten seconds.