Five Small Direct Debits I've Cancelled in 2026 (and the One That's Staying Put)

The £61.97 I found hiding in my bank app

Back in February, I did the boring thing. I opened my banking app, searched for 'subscription' and 'direct debit', and wrote everything down in a notebook like a detective in a low-budget crime drama. It was slightly nosy. It was also slightly horrifying. I was paying for five things I barely used, plus one thing I'd defend in court.

Here's the honest audit. No affiliate links, no moralising, just what I cancelled and what I actually missed.

The 'one show' streaming service — cancelled

Cost: £5.99 a month. I signed up for one true-crime series and then forgot my password. It stayed active for eleven months. Eleven. I missed nothing, because I already had another streaming service with roughly the same shows and a much better interface.

Verdict: booted. I cancelled it in March and felt a tiny pang when the confirmation email arrived, then nothing. Practical tip: check whether the thing you're paying for is actually exclusive to that service, or whether it's just buried in a different app you already pay for.

The beauty box that made me feel guilty — cancelled

Cost: £15 a month. The promise was 'discovery'. The reality was fourteen miniature moisturisers and a tiny lipstick in a shade called something like 'Corporate Beige'. I kept the box for three months after cancelling because I felt bad throwing it away. It is currently holding hair bobbles.

What I actually missed: the post arriving with something that wasn't a bill. That's it. I did not miss the products. I donated the unopened ones to a local women's charity, which felt better than another drawer of tiny tubes.

Verdict: cancelled in April. No regrets. If you love a beauty box, genuinely, keep it. But if you're just chasing the tiny thrill of post, buy a £3 magazine instead.

The coffee club I wanted to love — cancelled

Cost: £12 fortnightly, so about £24 a month. I wanted to be the kind of person who grinds beans at 7am and owns a fancy tamper. I am not that person. I drink tea. The coffee sat in the cupboard going stale while I made another brew.

What I missed: the idea of myself. The ritual. The little bag with the date stamped on it. I did not miss the actual coffee, because I wasn't drinking it. I bought a £9 cafetière and a bag of supermarket beans, and I've used the cafetière exactly twice. At least it didn't cost £24 a month.

Verdict: cancelled in May. Saved roughly £15 a month after the cafetière splurge. If you're a real coffee person, ignore me. But be honest about whether you're buying the coffee or the fantasy.

The food magazine I never read — cancelled

Cost: £6.99 a month. It arrived, I put it on the 'read later' pile, and then it went in the recycling three months later. I made one recipe from it in a year. One. It was a very nice lentil soup, to be fair.

What I missed: nothing, because the recipes are online and my library app has about forty food magazines for free. I swapped the direct debit for a library card I already had. That's not a smug tip, it's just a fact I wish I'd remembered earlier.

Verdict: cancelled in June. If you genuinely read your magazine, keep it. But do the maths on cost per read. Mine was about £83 per recipe.

The fitness app I used twice — cancelled

Cost: £9.99 a month. I downloaded it in a burst of January optimism, did two twenty-minute workouts, and then let the direct debit run until July. The app kept sending me notifications that said things like 'We miss you!' and 'Let's get back on track!' I found them oddly threatening.

What I missed: nothing. I walk every day anyway, and there are free workouts on YouTube that are just as good and don't guilt-trip me. I'm not saying fitness apps are bad. I'm saying mine was a £9.99-a-month reminder that I'd rather go for a walk.

Verdict: cancelled in July. If you use it three times a week, it's brilliant value. If you use it twice in six months, it's a subscription to guilt.

The one subscription that earned its place

Cost: £7.99 a month for an audiobook app. I kept this one. It's the only direct debit I'd fight for in a budget meeting with myself. I listen on walks, on the bus, and while doing the washing up. It has stopped me buying £10 paperbacks on a whim, which means it's basically paying for itself. It also makes boring tasks feel less boring, which is worth £7.99 to me.

The test I use now: did I use it last month without forcing myself? If yes, keep. If no, cancel. If I can't remember the password, definitely cancel.

What I'd tell anyone doing a subscription audit

Open your banking app, search for regular payments, and write them down. All of them. Then ask three questions: What does this cost me per month? What do I actually get from it? Would I sign up again today, at this price? If the answer to the last one is no, cancel it. Use the app or the website — don't just delete the app, because the direct debit will keep going.

Total saved from the five cancellations: £61.97 a month. That's not a small amount. That's a January dinner, a train ticket to see a friend, or just a slightly less terrifying energy bill. Keep the one thing that genuinely earns its place. Cancel the rest. Be nosy about your own money. It's allowed.