Confessions of a Reluctant Recessionista

numbers. When we got to lot twenty-one, a dilapidated pilesomewhere in Hounslow, I helped Ali to her feet and we moved through the crowd towards the front.
    ‘Lot twenty-two,’ the auctioneer announced, ‘is number forty-seven St Mark’s Road, W10. The guide price is two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, the reserve price is one hundred and twenty thousand. Can I start the bidding at one hundred and fifty?’ We looked around the room. No one bid. My hands were shaking.
    ‘What do we do?’ I whispered.
    ‘Nothing,’ Ali whispered back. ‘We don’t open the bidding.’
    ‘Do I see one thirty? Surely I see one thirty? This is a three-bedroom property in excellent condition, in the heart of West London. Do I see one thirty? I do, the bidding is opened at one hundred and thirty thousand pounds. Do I see one forty?’
    ‘Who bid?’ I hissed at Ali. ‘I didn’t see who it was.’
    ‘Shhh. Let me concentrate.’
    A bidding war began between two men, both of whom looked as though they might have been developers – they had bid on other properties already that morning. Ali’s house was clearly not their dream home.
    ‘Hopefully, they’re not going to be in it all the way,’ Ali said to me. ‘They’re going to want to sell the place on, and since there’s not much you can do to the house that hasn’t already been done, they need a low price in order to make their margin.’
    One of the developers dropped out at two seventy. It was time to make our move.
    ‘Do I see two eighty?’ the auctioneer asked. ‘The bidding is with you, sir, at two seventy. Do I see two eighty?’
    Ali raised her hand. ‘We have a new bidder!’ the auctioneer announced excitedly. The remaining property developer, who was standing less than ten feet away from us, rolled his eyes and turned to look at us, visibly annoyed. Ali gave him a cold, hard stare. He looked away. He bid two ninety and Ali went to three hundred. The auctioneer asked for three ten. His hand stayed down. She’d done it!
    ‘The bidding is with the young lady, at three hundred thousand pounds,’ the auctioneer said. ‘Going once, going twice … I have a new bid! The gentleman at the back bids three hundred and ten thousand.’ My heart sank. Ali remained stoical, raising her hand to bid three twenty.
    ‘Do I see three thirty?’ Please don’t see three thirty, I thought. ‘Three hundred and thirty thousand pounds.’ That was it. I was devastated, and it wasn’t even my dream house. I couldn’t imagine what Ali must have been feeling. She’d wanted this so much, but still her face gave nothing away. The auctioneer asked if there were any more bids. There were not. And then, just as he was about to bring the gavel down, Ali raised her hand one more time.
    ‘Three fifty,’ she called out. I was so surprised I actually jumped. Three fifty? Where did three fifty come from? What happened to three forty?
    ‘Three hundred and fifty thousand,’ the auctioneerannounced. ‘Do I see three sixty?’
    He did not. ‘Going once, going twice …’ The gavel came down. ‘Lot twenty-two is sold to the young lady for three hundred and fifty thousand pounds! Congratulations.’ Ali and I were jumping up and down, hugging each other.
    ‘Oh, my God!’ I shrieked. ‘I can’t believe we won! We won!’
    ‘I need to sit down,’ Ali said.
    ‘I need a drink,’ I said.
    ‘I also need to pee,’ Ali said.
    When Ali got back from the ladies I’d found a table in the corner of the lobby and ordered a coffee for myself and orange juice for her.
    ‘Christ,’ she said, sinking into an armchair, ‘I can’t believe I just paid thirty thousand over my limit.’
    ‘Neither can I.’
    ‘I just couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear to let it go.’
    ‘What happens now?’ I asked her.
    ‘Well, I have to put down a ten per cent deposit today – that won’t be a problem, I can get the bank to transfer over the money. Then I have a month – well, twenty working days to be exact – to get the rest of the money together. I’m going to have to go back to my broker and ask for more cash.’
    ‘Do you think you’ll be able to get it?’
    ‘I’d better be able to get it – the deposit is non-refundable, so if I don’t get it, I’ll have just thrown away thirty-five thousand pounds.’
    ‘Jesus, Ali. How can you be so calm about this?’
    ‘Oh, I’m not calm. I’m actually having a nervous breakdown as we speak. But I’m an equities trader – we’re