An unhealthy relationship

Apologies for the radio silence, but I have been busy with life - moving house, a ridiculously demanding job and the small vestige of a social life I've managed to cling on to have taken up all my time.
Moving out of the parental home (years later than I should have) has been a bit of a wrench. Packing all my beautiful clothes into two giant market bags was a bit upsetting too, as is not having any proper clothing storage. I can not convey how much I hate having my carefully curated wardrobe hanging on cheap plastic Argos rails, but at least they are now unpacked.
Anyway, the new house is beautiful. The people we are sharing it with are very nice - let's call them M&S as those are their initials and it is also very apt given we have moved to the middle class nirvana of Queen's Park and there isn't a useful abbreviation for Farmer's Market. They have a lovely puppy and a haughty cat who I am determined to win over. Everything works in the kitchen and our bathroom is so pristine it looks like a hotel bathroom.
Of course, to live somewhere lovely costs money, and sacrifices will have to be made. So it's bye bye high street, bye bye Liberty and bye bye ebay. At least for a little while. Or maybe just until i can't bear it any longer.
Some people would say that my relationship with shopping is a little unhealthy. My mother certainly thinks so. She suggested that I just not buy any clothes for three months to rebalance my finances and if I couldn't do that then I had a serious problem. Perhaps I do. But it's not a problem that is hurting anyone, is it? And as long as I reign in my spending habits a bit, stick mainly to the chairty shops and car boot sales and only visit Liberty to drink tea and gaze at things longingly rather than impulse buy in the beauty department, we should be fine. And I won't want to bite anyone's head off or feel too miserable.
Sometimes mother just doesn't know best.