‘My wife can’t wait to splurge. How do I tell her she’s on her own?’

‘My £50-a-month visit to a Mayfair barber has been replaced with a £20 pair of clippers’

Maxi skirt, £69, Phase Eight (phase-eight.com)

Red maxi skirt, £405, La Double J (ladoublej.com)

Green maxi skirt, £125, Phoebe Grace (phoebe-grace.co.uk)

The light at the end of the lockdown tunnel is getting nearer. From my wife’s perspective, it consists of Mediterranean sunshine mixed with the neon flicker from the sign above her favourite restaurant.

From my perspective, it is a notification on the screen of my phone telling me I am in credit.

And therein lies the issue. My wife is already planning our postcoronavirus splurge. She’s browsing the internet for villas with pools in the South of France, she’s booking tables at expensive restaurants, she’s planning to restart her expensive gym membership as soon as it is open. Normal service, she hopes, will soon resume.

I, on the other hand, have managed to almost completely break free from our pre-coronavirus addiction to unnecessary spending, to the point that, for the first time in many years, I am not panicking about how I’m going to fund a champagne lifestyle on a prosecco income.

There has always been a financial disparity between us. Before the pandemic, the business my wife owns and runs was booming. Along with my lesser contribution, we enjoyed the fruits of our labour. We travelled a lot, had several holidays a year and ate out several times a week. Much of it was enabled by her success and she rarely worried about money.

I, on the other hand, while not destitute, struggled to keep up financially. While she never expected me to match her (I could barely afford the Ryanair flight to Malaga last year, let alone the business-class seats to Bermuda), the old-fashioned male pride part of my brain always attempted to go pound-forpound, but largely failed.

Life was good, but from my perspective it was also a struggle and for several years I lived on the precipice of an overdraft and an ever-increasing credit card bill.

But the pandemic has been a great leveller. My wife’s firm took a huge hit.

She furloughed no staff and worked day and night to develop a viable digital strategy that is now thankfully paying off. Economically the pandemic created winners and losers. My income dropped, too, but not as much and – crucially – so did my spending. I approach the end of lockdown with a clean slate. Without anything to spend money on apart from home gym equipment, I’ve managed to get myself back on a financial even keel, and I don’t plan on going back.

I’ve started to realise how insane our financial lives were, how much we spent on things we didn’t need. Now, I’m determined to live within my means. The Riviera villa will have to be replaced by a B&B in Brittany. The cheeky midweek lunch with wine at The Ivy will become a Steak Bake from Greggs, with a can of Vimto. My special treat, a £50-a-month visit to an exclusive Mayfair barber, is now off the table. I’m practically bald anyway, so it equated to around 50p per hair. Instead, I bought £20 clippers from Amazon and shaved my bonce. It looks better.

Every few months, we used to take a trip into London together and load up on expensive and unnecessary clobber from Selfridges and John Lewis. Last summer, for example, I spent more than £360 on two pairs of Vilebrequin swimming shorts and £220 on two pairs of Ray-Ban sunglasses. In lockdown I discovered Asos. It is a revelation. I ordered similar items for £70. I didn’t like one pair of shorts so sent them back and didn’t even have to pay postage. Admittedly, the frames on the glasses are poor quality and the lenses don’t seem to offer any UV protection, but for that price, how can you complain? After all, they’re only eyes.

I’ve decided that I rather like the penny-pinching new me. I like looking at a bank balance that doesn’t judge me. I don’t miss the cold finger of fear poking at my chest each time my wife suggests we go out to eat.

Of course, I haven’t told her about our frugal future yet. I’m waiting for the right opportunity. I’m not sure how she’ll take it.