Coming out of financial – as well as a physical – lockdown is quite a tricky business

Real life is expensive, isn’t it? Living on an abruptly reduced income for over a year has made me incredibly stingy, and now that the world is slowly opening back up, I’m not sure whether I can afford it.

Financially, the last couple of weeks have been a bit of an eye opener. So this is how I used to live, is it? Basically with my purse continually hanging open, and great wads of money falling out of it.

Of course, the first big expense for many of us, now that we are back in the real world – one that Tony Blair seemed at first to have swerved – is the post-lockdown haircut. By the by, what was that mass hysterical bitching about Tony’s hair all about? So he wanted to look like he was with the band. Why wouldn’t you? After all, it's much more honourable than looking like an MP. And who knows, maybe he didn’t trust Cherie with the scissors?

It's time we gave the hairdressers out there some credit. Forgotten for the past 14 months, these are the guys who are now expected to save the country’s tresses from disastrous home-salon jobs.

My partner and I eventually got our “his and hers” slot last week, and our hair saviour admitted she had barely sat down since 12 April, a fact very much evidenced by the constant twitching of her mobile phone as client after client begged for an appointment.

A good hairdresser is a miracle worker, because so much of our self-esteem is tied up in our hair. For me, a lockdown spent growing out a choppy wannabe pixie cut had resulted in looking like the kind of woman I never wanted to be. That is, a rather bland, apologetic, sixty-something woman with a beige-coloured lank bob.

I rechristened myself Pam. Pam was a bit put-upon, she wasn’t as sociable as I am, and she didn’t swear as much. Pam was rather self-conscious in public and preferred staying at home with a good jigsaw puzzle rather than gallivanting.

I was glad to see the back of Pam, literally, because as my hair magician showed me the back of my head – newly shorn and tinted silver – I could feel the old me return. My cheekbones even came back. I opened my mouth and swear-words of gratitude tumbled out.

As for the old man, his “Dumbledore of south London” look was swiftly transformed into a “swept back from the temples, senior art director of a successful ad agency” style, and we were able to leave the salon and step out onto the streets of London without wincing at our reflections.

But central London haircuts don’t come cheap, especially when you take cabs to and from town, buy a couple of takeaway coffees, and allow the old man off his leash so that he can wander into a fancy-pants cake shop to buy tiny chocolate eclairs covered in gold leaf.

Life will be cheaper when I’m double jabbed and happy to resume normal public-transport habits, but until then, I’m destined to palpitate over the cost of cabs and parking.

The other day we drove to Hampton Court for the tulip festival and bagsied a local private-drive via an app for three hours, which was brilliant but eye-wateringly expensive. When you haven’t done anything or been anywhere for so long, it’s easy to forget that looking human and having a good time actually costs money.

For many of us, coming out of what was a financial, as well as a physical, lockdown is quite tricky. I have inherited a parsimonious streak from my northern parents, and have a horror of spending more than I earn. I’m also quite easily institutionalised, and have got used to spending very little over the past year. I imagine it’s the same for people who have been in prison for a while: when you come out you can’t believe how much everything costs.

My behaviour is reminiscent of one of my grandmothers in the 1970s. She could never keep up with inflation, and her idea of “birthday money” was a threepenny bit wrapped up in toilet paper.

Money worries don’t seem to be holding back the youth, though, and walking through Soho on Friday evening, I witnessed the newly pedestrianised Old Compton St being set up for its daily drinking and dining-out jamboree. As fast as those tables and chairs could be arranged down the middle of the road, they were being snapped up by young people who looked more than ready to drink and socialise again, and who can blame them?

There is something really uplifting about seeing people out having a good time, and even though I was still reeling from how much a cut and bleach and coffee costs, I decided to stop moaning about it.

Spending might not be great for the bank balance, but right now it’s brilliant for morale – and anyway, I don’t want to be “Pam” for the rest of my life.