Trimming your ‘sales’

At the time of writing this I had just graced the New Year sales with my presence and battered (that’s battered as in hammered and not that of the crispy golden variety; that would be just plain daft) debit card.

It wasn’t, however, my intention to go ‘sales shopping’; I headed out initially for an Earl Grey, slab of tiffin and a read of CrossStitch Monthly…. er, I mean The Economist, but it just kind of happened.

Why is it, pray tell, that although one neither craves nor indeed requires a sequinned reading-spectacles holder in the shape of a Staffordshire bull terrier that you fight off elderly ladies in day-glow shell suits and woolly hats to grab the only one still in its box? I’ll tell you: it’s because it has 75% off!

So what is it about a bargain that sends the senses soaring? I mean to say, you return home with your gaudy acquisition and it ends up replacing the missing foot on the spin-dryer instead of being employed for its intended use.  And whilst we’re on the subject of reading glasses, why is it you can never feel them when you’re wearing them as an Alice-band whilst scouring the house for them?!

I’ll tell you what is a New Year bargain though. Calendars.

Just because folk have missed making an entry on them for 5 or 6 days, they don’t want to know. I managed to pick up one for 2 quid of meerkats dressed as members of UKIP (that’s for the toilet) and another for the pantry for 72p. This one charts Cliff Richard’s tour of pencil factories from around the world; a different country and workshop for each month, although December just featured Cliff wearing a Scandi Knit turtle-neck whilst flambéing a Christmas log.

Even the pound shops had a sale; up to Half Price. Yes dear reader, I swear that there is not an ounce of flannel in my last claim… actually saying that I managed to procure a 10 pack of tasteful Katie Hopkins flannels in the sale for 50p; get in there!!! Mind you, I have enough face cloths so I’ll have to find another use for those.

One of my more intriguing observations during ‘sale time’ was in the shoe shops. For some reason, these seem to attract the more frenzied variety of bargain hunting. Greeting me with an odour of leather and warm Camembert, my footwear boutique of choice had a floor awash with left foot sling-backs and brogues. When I finally found the size 6 ½ rack (yes I have small feet but it’s useful for avoiding paying VAT on footwear) all that was really left was a faded sandal and deck shoe which upon reaching inside for the price label was, I discovered still warm and slightly damp from the previous potential purchaser.

Anyway I’m off now to try out my new ultrasonic bellybutton-fluff remover.

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