I never thought living through a period of sharp inflation would feel so physical. I have been back in Britain for just over two weeks and, each time I check my account, a little cartoon appears in my head.
I am standing there, like a Disney character, minding my own business, but someone wicked has dipped all the coins I own in oil and they keep falling out of my pocket. I try to go through life, tend to my cartoon business, but the coins keep falling on to the pavement, no matter what I do.
It is a scene I picture every other day because that is how often I am now checking my account. I didn’t use to do this, even a few months ago. I make a very decent living, and am usually lucky enough to get away with an occasional glance at my banking app, just to make sure I am not overspending wildly. It wasn’t always the case: my first five or so years in London were spent being thoroughly skint, and I am no stranger to crossing my fingers while trying to withdraw a tenner from an ATM.
Join our new commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies