I’m a BAD shopper.
I don’t mean in the urban slang sense, of course. A white, middle aged English woman using urban slang is about as pleasant a sight as you’d expect it to be, innit, and I suspect could cause serious trauma, blu-blu-blood.
A helpline would have to be set up and one of those messages broadcast – the ones you see after TV programmes about gangs or granny rustling:
If you’ve been affected by anything you’ve seen tonight …
I also don’t go around filling my pants with pic n mix or exposing myself in sporting goods departments or putting waders on the lingerie mannequins, or going to the cosmetics counter to ask the ladies if it’s part of their job description to wear every product they sell all at the same time …
I don’t do any of these things. Sometimes I feel like doing some of them – I’ll leave you to guess which.
I’m a bad shopper because I don’t really enjoy it. I don’t browse happily through one ladies wear department to the next, joyfully throwing on every pair of foil slacks, squirrel fur onesie and sequinned jumpsuit on the rails.
The way my shopping outings usually go is as follows:
(1) Root through the plastic storage box that passes for my clothes drawer.
(2) Think ‘Ooh, I really don’t have enough cardigans / jumpers for the chilly English climate.’
(3) Think ‘Ah, yes, that’s because they had holes in them / I did the gardening in them / wore them until they resembled the pelt of something dead, buried and disinterred. Then I threw them away.’
(4) Think ‘I really must get around to buying some more.’
(5) Realise it is in fact April and therefore the shops will only be selling bikinis, flip flops and sarongs for the next three months.
(6) Shrug, go make a cup of tea, eat a Hobnob and resign myself to wearing the same ragged, mouse den knitwear until the New Year sales.*
There is one thing (apart from tea and biscuits) that I am good at buying and that’s books.
Despite my self-imposed Amazon ban (Thou shalt not purchase papery beloveds from the jaws of the sulphur-scented online Behemoth – on pain of being very disappointed and giving yourself a good telling off) I still can’t resist a bargain.
You must’ve seen the offers when you go into book shops or supermarkets. Those naughty, tempting stickers on the paperbacks, the ones that say
Buy one get one half price.
To a bookish type, these stickers are as tempting as a Costa Chai Latte to a sugar addict and I can find myself prowling a table for fifteen minutes or more, one book in hand, desperately trying to find a second so I can only spend half the cover price on it.
It has meant I’ve bought books I was only half interested in, so it’s a good thing I only paid half of what they’re worth. Of course the sensible thing would be to stick with the book I really want and save myself a small amount of money and from having a book on my To Be Read list that I’m not bothered about reading.
Over the weekend, I found myself in this position. The morning had been a bit dispiriting, so to cheer myself, I headed not for the nearest stiletto shop but into WHSmith in the hope of papery nirvana.
What did I find, but a whole shelf of Buy one get on half price paperbacks – joy.
And better than that, I spotted two books I really want to read – Kate Atkinson’s A God In Ruins and Costa Book of the Year winner, The Lie Tree by Frances Hardinge. Excited as a puppy with two tails, I bounded to the counter and handed the cashier my one and a half paperbacks’ worth of cash.
Once home, I had the pleasure of adding my purchases to the TBR Everest next to my bed, only to spot a familiar looking spine already in the stack …
A flickering memory assaulted my brain …
Standing in the supermarket, holding a lovely, crisp paperback, desperately looking for another to buy to fulfill the Buy one get one half price offer … Spotting A God in Ruins and skipping happily to the checkout with it!
Yes, I have in fact, bought Kate Atkinson’s book twice, both times on a half price deal. This means several things.
(1) Kate Atkinson’s publisher has done big deals with several major book retailers.
(2) I have now reached the age where I really am not to be trusted to buy books without supervision.
(3) I have a spanking new copy of A God in Ruins in dire need of a good home.
Do you find yourself drawn to these naughty offers, or do you resist and always pay full price for your literary fix? Do let me know.
*At which time, I will forget I need knitwear again until the sales are over. Then, in April, I’ll root through the plastic storage box that passes for my clothes drawer …