My car doesn't boast sat nav, my mobile isn't a Bluetooth and my handbag isn't Prada, but for me, like thousands of others worldwide, 2009 is the year when I am reining in my material consumption.

As I empty my household bins each week, I can't help but notice how much 'stuff' I buy and discard in just seven days. Then, dragging an overstuffed dustbin to the pavement for collection, I have an epiphany: For one month I won't buy anything new! Money will be exchanged for the strictly necessary only, and I will become pure of mind and purse.

Or at least, that's what I thought. Day one of my spending sabbatical dawns and the first thing I do is stumble downstairs to collect the newspaper delivered daily to my door.

Crisis of conscience

But now, the moment becomes a crisis of conscience. How many trees plunged silently in a forest to provide me with news and a quick crossword?

I'm loath to cancel our delivery service, prepaid at discounted rates. With two adults in our Dink (Double Income, No Kids) household, this is a career investment we both feel we 'must' make. At least we share the paper and recycle religiously.

My post-rationalisation complete, I virtuously make preparations to leave for work. For the entire month, my car is to stay in the garage — I will train instead.

This will double the amount of time needed to get to the office — from 25 minutes to 50 — but the benefits are too numerous to ignore.

Our city's traffic snarls are horrific; frankly, I'm delighted to be getting off the road. But hang on. What about the cleaners expected weekly? The pool man who comes monthly? And the gardener at the start of each season? (Amazing what you can afford when you don't have to pay school fees.) Do maintenance services count when you're on a no-buy regimen?

Labelled a 'princess'

Wary lest I'm labelled a 'princess', I decide to cancel the lot and do it all myself. I've clipped hedges before, weeded garden beds, grouted showers and occasionally emptied the pool filter. None of these service providers is going to jump for joy when I cancel, because my decision affects their income. Still, for one month I will persevere.

And speaking of maintenance, what happens when my hair needs foils, my toenails look ragged and I squeeze the last drop from a tube of my favourite tinted moisturiser?

Can a 40-something woman afford to let herself go to pot? The answer is a resounding no! I will buff and polish myself to perfection in the comfort of my home, at a fraction of the price.

Heeding the advice of a good friend, I decide not to buy a single beauty product until every unguent cluttering my bathroom cabinet is used up. As my eyes wander over the shelves crammed with creams and lotions, I realise I could keep this commitment until 2012.

The only expense I allow myself is a sandwich for lunch (R20), but even this begins to irk. Would it be cheaper if I bought all the ingredients and made my sandwiches myself ? I resolve to find out in Week 2.

Doing it on your own

By the time the weekend rolls around, I'm alarmed to see balls of dust accumulating in corners of our house, and the pool looking a tad seedy. I rush around spritzing and swabbing every grubby surface I can find, then shower before dutifully commencing my next sweaty job: the garden and pool. It's relatively straightforward but time-consuming, and the following morning, en route to a family picnic, I can barely lift the cooler box after my Edward Scissorhands session.

The picnic, meanwhile, is a self catering affair — and a huge success. Best of all, it costs everyone next-to nothing.

We all chat uproariously for hours under a giant shady tree and are sad to pack up when the sun sets.

Is a gym membership a necessity? I think so. Where else can I swim, cycle, do yoga and kickbox, all under the same roof?

My fortnightly direct debit is an expense, but the health benefits blitz any concerns I have. Except, blast, now I've mislaid my swimming cap and if I want to swim in the gym's pool, I'll have to pay R20 for a new one. It's the kind of wastefulness that makes my frugal husband spit!

Doing the unusual

I'm keeping my spending down to strictly essential groceries, but then two birthdays come up. What now? For a close girlfriend's fourth-decade celebration, I create a 'Babysitting Service Gift Voucher' so she and her husband can paint the town red without paying their babysitter her usual R40 per hour. My pal thinks this is marvellous and books me for a five-hour shift.

For the other pal's birthday, I go foraging in the garden and wine cellar and arrive at the restaurant with a bottle of Cabernet with wine-coloured orchids to match. Amount deleted from my bank account: zero.

Come the second weekend, I discover I've no time for movies or dining out, I'm too busy doing household chores, colouring my hair, downloading free tracks onto my iPod, and washing the car myself for the first time in years.

After diligent research I discover making my own lunches will save me a small amount, but the hassle involved barely seems worth it so I decide against packed lunches, but continue scrimping in other ways.

My husband watches me, amazed, and makes me dinner as I collapse on Saturday night in front of the television.

This no-spending lark is making me self-reliant, but also mildly antisocial.

Unforseen expenses

Grrrr. I've made all these savings, but guess what? I reversed straight into the back of another car this weekend after a work-out at the gym. Now I have to pay a R2000 excess. Yet another good reason to give up cars altogether!

On the happy side, our tumble-dryer broke down and my husband and I have decided not to fix it. We've been talking for ages about drying our clothes in the sun — now we're doing it. The towels are as crisp as toast, alas, but the sheets smell of sunshine. We're happy with our decision.

I've also called in a landscape architect (first visit to quote: free) because I've now got a bee in my bonnet about establishing a vegetable garden.

All this frugality has made it clear to me that what all of us really need to skimp on are the world's depleting resources: petrol, water, energy, food.

With short showers and the air-conditioning off by default in our house, the next step for us is to grow our own lettuce, tomatoes and chives. So we're drawing up plans for greater eco-sufficiency in the future.

Finally, the week closes with a literary lunch (prepaid weeks before) at which the former Governor of Hong Kong, Chris Patten, natters about his latest book. I feel guilty nicking off without buying a book and suggest to my friend that we go halves.

"Oh no," she replies. "I'm getting it from the library." Of course! That place you visit to borrow books for free. Genius!

On week four...

Fresh challenges await in the lead-up to Christmas. Not spending money may seem impossible, but I amaze myself. Creating one's own greetings cards are easy-peasy in our digital world — and infinitely more personal.

Eschewing gifts for family and friends who are already drowning in too much 'stuff' is another no-brainer.

Instead I send a (tax-deductible) cheque to my favourite charity and they send me Christmas cards that list the fruit trees and school packs I've purchased on behalf of friends for those less fortunate than themselves.

In this have-and-have-not world, it seems a better way to spread much needed cheer.

Then an e-mail pops up from my favourite frock shop announcing 25 percent discounts for one week on its summer range. I press 'delete' faster than you can spell 'budget' and give myself a gold star for righteousness.

By now, I've pared back groceries, gifts, beauty treatments and social outings. I've brought my dog into work to save on dog-walker fees. I have not used my cell phone at all and I've bundled all my telecommunications into a single money-saving bill. I've walked whenever I could and I've even cut my twice-daily cappuccino habit in half, saving myself at least R10 a day.

I've enjoyed my 'no-spending' spell, though occasionally I've compared myself to Barack Obama: you know, saving the world while simultaneously taking into account gazillion vested interests. Being but human, though, I now need some gratification.

So, as soon as this ink dries, I'm calling our pay television company to arrange a second service. It'll cost an extra R60 a month, but at least my husband and I won't fight over the remote anymore. Some things in life, as the ad goes, are priceless.