Why are so many womem CLUELESS with MONEY?

She’s a successful author but can barely pay for her supermarket shop. CANDIDA CREWE asks..

AT SAINSBURY’S, the choice of basket over trolley had been a deliberate one. The note to self had been only to buy absolute essentials.

i knew the bank account was in a perilous state but, too fearful to check the amount, i did not know precisely how much i had to spend. i soon found out at the checkout.

The contents came to about £30, but my card was rejected. as a queue formed behind me, i went through the humiliating process of taking out the eggs and cheese before trying the card again. nope. So then, the coffee and a couple of other items came out.

i apologised to the woman who rang for a colleague to come and return them to their shelves. The bell seemed particularly loud.

When the card was declined a third time, i scrabbled in my wallet for cash. a grand total of 69p. but i suddenly saw my loyalty card and inspiration struck. i handed it to the cashier.

i had been resisting using my rewards on the card for years, but there was my saving grace: £27. i was even able to reinstate the eggs and cheese. The children would not go hungry after all.

it was a bad moment, but not the only one i have had of its kind. it doesn’t happen every day, but certainly every few weeks or months.

i do wonder how this came to be. i am, after all, a 52-year-old woman who benefited from a good education and who has always worked — admittedly self-employed — since 18.

i own my house in a safe area around the corner from a branch of Farrow & ball and a Gail’s artisan bakery, for God’s sake. nothing could reek more of a middle-class existence. and yet, in my case, in terms of wealth at any rate, it is all smoke and mirrors.

i have extremely little money. a couple of months ago my shower broke and it cost £385 to replace — £385 i didn’t have. a good while later, i am still feeling the financial ripples of that domestic disaster.

i guess i shouldn’t be surprised. apparently, 46 per cent of people in this country couldn’t lay their hands on £500 for an emergency without resorting to selling something or borrowing. The average debt per household is £54,740 (£7,000 of which is non-mortgage, meaning credit cards, loans and HP).

Women are on the whole worse off than men, especially women in their 50s, 60s and 70s. Certainly, according to a recent TUC report, women have barely half the pensions of men.

Seventy-one per cent of us have no idea what pension pot we will need to secure the retirement income we hope for.

Many women, like me, have no pension at all. i can’t afford to pay into one. So how do i think i am going to fund my future? i have no idea.

My head is buried so deep in the sand i am financially suffocating myself, convinced that someone, something, will come to the rescue, though, of course, it won’t.

This is all the more unforgivable because i am neither feckless nor stupid, yet in this respect i manage to be both.

Jasmine birtles, 43, is a Cambridgeeducated financial journalist and TV presenter. She has written 38 books and has two businesses.

One, Money Magpie, is an online site that gives consumer advice for saving and making money. She does not think it is as odd as i do that i am so cash poor.

in fact, she praises me for the fact that, while i have no money, i also have no appalling debt (currently it stands at £157 on a credit card).

‘Women in their 50s are very much the squeezed middle,’ she says. ‘They have ageing parents to be cared and paid for and children who are facing more expenses than any generation before them — university education, the cost of housing, rent, weddings and so on.

‘For women of your age — especially if they are divorced — it can be a hand-to-mouth existence, even if they are working all hours.’

My story is not unusual. i didn’t go to university, but started working straight after school. i landed a job in a bookshop and publishing house when i was 19, but wrote in the evenings and weekends. When i had my first articles published and my first novel was accepted, i quit the day job to live by my pen.

What enabled me to do so was the extraordinary, at present unthinkable privilege (except by multimillionaires) of having been given enough money by my mother to buy myself a flat.

it was in a basement, looked out at a brick wall and was so small there was no room for a table, but it bought me the crucial freedom to pursue a creative line of work that i enjoyed even though i guessed i would always be cash-poor.

i didn’t mind, and only occasionally dreamed of writing a bestseller.

after my three children were born, like many mothers, i continued to work as much as i could, but i did not have a full-time job with the securities that affords.

i had chosen to become a writer so have no right to complain. i feel blessed even though writers in this country earn on average £11,000 a year and i would say that was a generous estimate.

My ex-husband and i divorced in 2010. We agreed we did not wish to give a penny to grasping lawyers.

We made our own settlement and the divorce cost no more than £90. He was generous to me to ensure a secure roof over the heads of myself and our three boys.

So the boys and i live in a house without a mortgage. if i wanted one, no bank would grant me a penny, given my income; paying rent was out of the question. The house is my only asset.

in theory, i could sell it. but that would be insane.

i would have to spend the capital on rent down the drain and be left with nothing with which to help my children when they might, one day, be able to clamber on to the housing

ladder. Jasmine maintains that the combination of relationship breakdown and having children is what makes women poor.

Plus the fact, according to recent research by Sainsbury’s Bank, that the female path through life is a more expensive one than the male.

As young as 14 to 18, girls cost £600 a year more than boys, because they tend to want more clothes, and the trend doesn’t change through life. ‘So many women have no knowledge of money. No one has taught us. A lot of us have been brought up with the assumption that we will be looked after by a man,’ says Jasmine .

‘I have a friend who is madly encouraging his son to make money, but saying his two daughters are pretty, so they’ll be fine. I’m telling him, no! They may have marriages that fall apart and they may even choose to be on their own, but old attitudes still prevail.’

She asks me whether anyone taught me about credit cards, loans, compound interest? And is unsurprised when the answer is ‘No’.

‘I didn’t think so. Yet Einstein said compound interest is the eighth wonder of the world: the earlier you invest and the higher the interest rate, the more enormous your pot will become. You’re never too late to start. Even if you’re in your 60s, you may live until you’re 100.’

I explain I earn too little to save. Jasmine advises me to set up a standing order putting money into a self-retirement fund, preferably stocks and shares, as opposed to a savings account.

WISE indeed, I tell her, but immediate needs — food, hot water, petrol — are too pressing. ‘Save, and after a while you really do learn to live on less,’ she says.

Jasmine is optimistic on my behalf and I warm to her. She is full of ideas and reassuring. She has no children and lives in West London, but was £10,000 in debt in the Nineties.

Hauling herself out of it in one year of ‘working seven days a week and not going out and never buying anything at all except food,’ taught her a lot.

She learned how to economise and now saves £15,000 to £20,000 a year using all her ‘bits and pieces’ of wisdom accrued over that 12 months and ever since.

Her mother set a tremendous example. A teacher, aged 50 she set up an agency — Top Notch Nannies — when she became a widow. ‘It transformed her life,’ says Jasmine.

‘She’s in her 70s and still at it. It has made her enough money to buy a place in Sussex and to pay off her mortgage.’

Other women she reads or hears about have been equally inspiring. She remembers learning of one couple who lost everything during the Lloyd’s of London collapse in the Eighties.

The wife, in her 60s, was renowned for making wonderful fruit cakes. She began to sell them at local markets and set up a business that kept the family going.

This chimes with Jasmine’s top tip to me and other women in my position. Set up a business using what you are good at.

In my case, she says, run classes teaching creative writing. Others might give singing lessons or make and sell flapjacks. If you have a degree, use it to tutor for GCSEs and A-levels.

She talks with admiration about the increasing number of ‘mumpreneurs’ setting up blogs or nail salons or signing up to speaker agencies to talk about a subject close to their heart.

Having said all this, Jasmine concedes it’s not always possible to be perfect. Her own extravagance, which she is not prepared to ditch, is money spent on her hair, though she does buy blow-dries in blocks of six, making each one £10 cheaper. She puts her money into a stakeholder pension and a self-invested pension and uses an Isa.

She advises women to put anything they can set aside into an index tracker — a computer does all the investing for you — and to wrap it all in an Isa (which, she says is like a bag you put investments into and then don’t pay tax on the income).

‘It’s all Greek, isn’t it?’ she says, seeing my baffled expression. ‘Don’t worry, even I can’t be bothered to watch the stock market — I’ve got chocolate to eat after all.’