Of course, we don’t actually use cash anymore. We use contactless cards. The tap. The beep. The silent prayer that your account can handle one more “emergency” sandwich. It’s dangerously easy. I once bought a cactus, a bag of crisps, and a magazine in one tap, and I genuinely don’t remember doing it. It’s like my card has a mind of its own, and it loves spending my future self’s money.
And then there’s the dreaded contactless limit. The government keeps nudging it up. First £30, then £45, then £100. It’s like they’re saying, “Go on, treat yourself. You deserve that novelty mug and a second cappuccino.” But the moment you go over the limit, you have to insert the chip (the “dip” as Americans call it, though we just call it the slow, embarrassing wait). You stand there, card half-in, machine beeping, feeling like a Victorian inventor who hasn’t quite cracked the technology.