Victim to the sales

I am a complete victim when it comes to bargains. Take this weekend, for example. I'm not feeling particularly rich at the moment, particularly as I'm off to Barcelona in a couple of weeks (give me a few seconds to contain my general excitement about a week off work).

But when I bumped into my friend MC on Saturday and she told me that D2 had a sale - a closing down sale no less - and were selling off shoes for £1 a piece I started seeing little happy shopping stars.

And I've been good, right? Despite the scone binging and a rather unfortunate incident with some seriously delicious honey roast ham, I'm losing weight at a very sensible and pleasing rate. Which means the general shopping buzz can be added to by a 'these clothes actually fit me' buzz. There have been shopping expeditions in the past where I've ended up either sulky and petulant and empty-handed or alternately tearful and with shopping bags full of non-clothes related items becasue nothing fits and it all makes my arse look the size of Mount Tibidabo (which I will see in Barcelona. Yay!).

So if I've been good, I definitely should be allowed to indulge in a tiny amount of feel-good shopping.

Me and my man (Archangel? Tony Robinson? AM? I just don't know, help me out here) were going to go and see Good Night and Good Luck anyway so we decided to turn up a touch (three hours) earlier and hit the shops. And the sales.

Oh, the sales. There were many shoes at just £1. And many for slightly higher prices. Unfortunately though there were some lovely shoes, I don't have size eight feet. My feet are small. So no shoes. But further up and further in (did you see my Last Battle reference there, any chance to bring Narnia up) there were many other items. A plum satin tulip-bottom skirt (no, I don't know what it means but MC said that's what it was) reduced from £25 to £2.50. A big cuddly zip-up jumper reduced from £20 to £5. At this stage my eyes were lighting up in what I think was a slightly scary fashion. As I went into the changing room, Archangel (I'm sorry mum, I can't do it, and I don't really understand why) was sitting uncomfortably in the shoe area surrounded by pre-pubescent skinny girls and men who quite clearly were not interested in people of the female persuasion. In and out - new top for the skirt. Too big (ha, it had to happen some time). Another top - too weird. Another top, just no good. But still, the skirt. Mmmm. As I queued up, I spotted the jumper. But it only came two sizes too big or one too small. To hell with it, it's only £5, and if I get the big one, I can wear it over all my other clothes. And it is purple.

All through this TR is acting as a handy clothes rail, giving kindly (or kingly, as I was about to say) and almost monosyllabic advice. Then I spot some cute bikinis in a little zip-up packet. So cute, and I don't have any non-sensible bikinis, only a practical adidas blue thing for swimming in. It was only £6. But I had no idea if it was going to fit even a little bit. And I was in the queue, with a large number of people behind me. Snap decision time. Hey, it's half price, I'm going to get it.

This turned out to be something I may live to regret. Let's just say I do not have size 14 breasts. And this was not one of your sensible underwired jobs, it was barely even a triangle. And unbeknownst to me, it has the words 'hoi polloi' inscribed on the arse. Hmm. Is this what I want my arse to be saying to the world as I lie on my front sunbathing?

Well, I won't return it right away, I need some thinking time about how much boob it is appropriate to show in a non-swimming bikini.

Then I went to the amazing Fopp shop and blew £25 on CDs and a book. They were on sale too.

More on that story later.