“Mr Ayres?” said the voice on the telephone. “We're following up on your appointment. We wondered if you would like to go ahead and book the surgery.” Eh? Was this a bad dream? Was this... ah, hang on a minute.

A year ago, I visited a Lasik eye doctor in Beverly Hills. I decided against the surgery — more accurately, I bottled out — and never gave it another thought. And now, all these months later, here was the follow-up call.

It's been a happening a lot lately. Car salesmen, building contractors, mortgage brokers, even the bloke who sold me a pair of trousers at Barney's New York, they're all suddenly desperate to keep in touch. Last year, you had to be Donald Trump to merit a return call from these people. Now they stalk you with telephone messages, junk mail, cold calls. Yes, this is it. It has finally happened: the recession is here.

So far, I'm loving it. For example: a few weeks ago, my wife crashed my car. I took it into the car bodyshop and was presented with a bill for two grand. At this point I did what I always do at garages: I became emotional. I launched into a long and somewhat poor-taste metaphor involving wrenches and lubrication. Then the repairman shuffled back to his shed and halved the labour rate. “Business is slow,” he explained.

Yes, recessions can be fun: they can be an absolute blast, right up to the moment you're fired. Fortunately, not many Americans can remember what this is like. The last recession, in 2001, lasted 53 seconds, during which time one Porsche was repossessed and three restaurant reservations were cancelled. And then, refreshed from this period of abstinence, everyone took out dodgy mortgages and bought 80in TVs.

This time, however, it could be different. In 2001, we were encouraged to stick it to the terrorists by shopping. But terrorists are no longer the enemy: carbon dioxide is the enemy. And as much as conspicuous conservationism is all the rage (I give you the “hybrid” Cadillac Escalade), we have convinced ourselves that consumption of any kind of product is bad unless the product in question has been manufactured using energy from a turbine driven by flatulence induced by an organic lentil. Case in point: I have decided not to renew the lease on my trusty Land Rover until Solihull can make one that does better than 11mpg.

And yet it's unsettling, this sense that the recession is actually a good excuse for a permanent downgrade. I'm sure the purge will feel good — righteous, even — for a while. I'm sure it will feel good right up to the moment when the Indians and the Chinese buy everything that's left of the West. And if you think a Land Rover is uneconomical now, wait until it's made by the same company that gave the Indian subcontinent the TATA Sumo 4x4.

Come to think of it, perhaps I should do my bit for the economy and book that surgery, after all.

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