NOT WHAT I BARGAINED FOR

A word of advice. If you see me by the shops, head down, elbows sticking out, keep clear. It means I'm on a mission to find something - preferably a bargain.

I was in St. Ives not long ago on such a mission. I sought a chocolate brown hoodie. I'd checked my hoodie collection and had all the colours of the rainbow including various browns but no chocolate brown.

I stormed into an unsuspecting shop which was displaying 'Sale' signs outside and after careful scrutiny of the hoodies on offer, 'Eureka!' - a chocolate brown one in the 'XL' section marked at £25 came to light. It was half-price. I checked the hanger - 'XL' - and went to pay.

That evening however when I came to try it on before bed I discovered to my horror that it was actually size 'small' which you might have guessed I'm not.

I drove back to St Ives the next day and presented the hoodie for a refund. 'No refunds on sale goods' came the reply. 

I explained that I had not changed my mind about the purchase but that it was clearly the wrong size and had been placed on an incorrect hanger. The lady behind the counter who had the demeanor of a female wrestler suggested that it must have been put on the wrong hanger by a customer. 

She said I could only have a credit note. Reluctantly, I accepted. As she organised it I said 'I hope you feel bad about this'. 'I don't have to give you a credit note and if you're rude to me I wont' she said.

Clearly the art of customer service is as dead as a Dodo. 

MODEL SHOPPER?

Oh no I've done it again! I swore I wouldn't repeat the mistake but there I was in the supermarket wearing something which I'd bought there. 

You do feel such a plonker standing there by a rack of the same item you're wearing as if you were somehow modelling it. 

Worse still they might think I'd slipped it on and whipped off the labels so I could do a runner without paying. Though I suppose I could point out the wine stain on the front of my item in mitigation.

In this case I was wearing the same baggy sweater as the row of them before me which mercifully hadn't gone down in price - that would have been even more galling. Actually, come to think of it, the ones on the rack weren't baggy-looking - funny that.

Anyway, I really won't do this again. Far from offering me a job as a male model for their clothes, I think it far more likely that they would call me quietly to the side and politely ask if I wouldn't mind standing well away from the sweater rack since they hoped to sell some.

I know my limitations.  

PENNY WISE POUND FOOLISH

My dear Grandmother used to keep a tidy house and was very careful with the pennies. She lived in Shirley which is in the West Midlands which is also where I was born.

One day she heard that bacon was 2d a pound (yes old money) cheaper in a shop in Solihull than in her local grocers. She therefore got my Granddad to drive her there (a round trip of about 10 miles) completely oblivious to the petrol cost involved. We used to call this being 'penny wise, pound foolish'.

I was reminded of this when I recently travelled some twenty miles to go to a store where I knew they had wine racks for sale at £15 which were £25 elsewhere. 

I was very pleased with my £10 saving but there was a slight problem. When parking in their car park, I dented my bumper which cost me £220 to repair.


It's all in the genes.

LEGGING IT

Many years and a marriage or two ago, my waist measurement was 32 inches. My leg length was also 32 inches so were it possible, I could have used my leg as a belt.

In an effort to bolster the economy, my waist has expanded over the years and is now variable from one day to the next dependant largely on how much chocolate is in the cupboard. If the chocolate is in the cupboard I'm about 38 inches but if the chocolate is in me - well you get the idea.

In terms of trouser length, my legs are still 32 inches long. They were the same length yesterday. Experience tells me that they will probably be the same length tomorrow. So if I need a new pair of trousers I just go to the shop and search for 32 inch leg trousers right?

Wrong. As my male readers will know, some shops sell even length trousers 30, 32, 34, 36, 38 etc. whilst others sell theirs in 29, 31, 33, 35, 37, 39 inch lengths. This means that if I've picked the wrong shop, when the assistant asks what size trousers I would like my choice of reply is

a) I would like my trousers to be an inch too short please.

b) I would like my trousers to be an inch too long please.

c) I shall be going to a different shop which sells trousers in my size thank you.

Unsurprisingly, the clothing sector is currently struggling to make a profit. You could say that they are not well-trousered.

UNDER THE COUNTER

"Daddy?

"Yes Jenny."

"Why is that shop empty?"

"Oh, it's probably because of the financial recession. Lots of shops are closing down".

"No, it's open and people are buying stuff but the shelves are all empty."

"Oh right, well then it's restricted sales. It's stuff which is put out of sight because the government says so - like pornography for instance".

"Daddy?...What's a 'tobacconist'?"

"It's a shop that sells cigarettes and tobacco."

"Well that's what that empty shop was."

"Oh yes, well smoking is very bad for you so the government want all tobacco products put out of sight of children. That's what I meant by 'restricted sales'."

"Daddy?...What's 'pornography'?"

"It's pictures of ladies boobies. Pornography magazines are put on the very top shelf in shops."

"Is that so you don't have to bend down to see them in case you hurt your back, Daddy?"

"No, it's so they are out of sight of little girls like you."

"Well when I grow up I don't want to ever smoke cigarettes."

"I'm very glad to hear that Jenny."

"...and I certainly shan't be growing any boobies."

A GRAVE MATTER

I recently hosted a big family reunion in the Midlands. There were a total of 88 of us with a further 10 who joined us after the meal. It was much enjoyed by everyone and their pleasure more than repaid all the hard work which I had put in to the event.

At one stage, I was chatting to a newly discovered second cousin who I had met on the internet through our mutual interest in ancestry. She suggested that we might go exploring one day, armed with our cameras, and try to find the addresses where our shared ancestors had lived.

This was music to my ears as I had often thought to do the same thing myself and with two heads being long established as better than one we should have a lot of success in our quest and a lot of fun too. We would also be able to track down a few gravestones which would be further photo opportunities.

Having decided to go ahead with the idea at some future date, I suggested to my wife that she might like to join us for our trip to Birmingham which is where our family roots lie.

She jumped at the offer and I immediately thought how the third person would make it easier to take photos of the other two. However, this plan then went by the board when she said "Obviously I shan't be interested in your families' homes and even less in their graves but you can drop me at the shops and pick me up when you've finished".

I'll never understand how she can pass up the chance to visit my family gravestones just to go round the biggest shopping centre in Europe. Women!

CHEAP AS CHIPS

I'm not a big fan of shopping, unlike my wife who ranks shopping somewhere between breathing and eating in terms of importance. When I do shop for clothes I do 'man' shopping. Women do not generally understand how this works so for the benefit of any ladies present 'man shopping' goes like this....

1. I decide I need a new pair of trousers.

2. I go to the shop and buy a pair.

3. I come home.

Except that I recently found myself in a clothes shop with time to kill so I started browsing, but of course this was 'man browsing'. This version of browsing entails idly picking up the odd item which catches the eye and then thinking of a good reason why I don't need it and returning it to the rail.

'Woman browsing', which sounds strangely like a pastime you would undertake in the red light district of Amsterdam, is different. I have observed my wife doing 'woman browsing' and she is expert at it. To understand the female version of browsing, read the definition of 'man browsing' above but substitute the word 'desperately' for the word 'don't'.

However, I have a confession to make. There is one thing which can seriously interfere with my browsing and that is spotting what appears to be a bargain. So it came to pass that my eyes alighted on a linen jacket which was 'denim' blue with a very fine white stripe. There was only one left and as you may have discovered, this fact leads you to grab the item concerned with undue haste just in case anyone else might be interested. I checked the label - it purported to be my size. I slipped it on and looked in the mirror and discovered that it fit like a glove - well like a jacket anyway. At this point I was in touch with my feminine side as I seemed to be trying to think of a reason why this jacket would fill a big gap in my wardrobe.

The price was £27 which was a definite bargain I felt but just to be sure, I took it to the tills and played hard to get by asking them to check what its original price was. This turned out to be £99.

I walked away and after feigning an act of indecision I eventually succumbed walking back to the tills and said 'I'll have it' hoping that the assistant wouldn't notice me slavering slightly. The bar code was swiped and the lady said 'That will be £9 please'. I offered my credit card with a trembling hand and after the transaction was completed I left the shop at indecent speed.

It was only later that the thought occurred that perhaps I should have haggled and asked them how much they would pay me to take the jacket off their hands.

AN EYE TO THE FUTURE

I try so hard to support local shops, really I do. OK for buying the weekly food shopping, supermarkets have won the day but as far as other shops are concerned......

When we moved here three years ago, I was delighted to discover that there was a small opticians only 5 minutes walk away. I went in and introduced myself. During the conversation, I discovered that although my previous optician was in a town some 35 miles away, the same guy who did my eye tests there, came here once a month. It was spooky really, because I was feeling sorry that Pete, for that was his name, wouldn't be doing my eye tests any more.

I booked in with him and had my first test. Now, I have to be tested regularly for Glaucoma and during that part of the test, it became clear that the equipment was so old that it wasn't up to doing the job. Pete was frustrated that he couldn't check me out properly. I was concerned that my eyes weren't getting the quality of test that I needed.

So sadly, I had to move to a large chain of opticians whose equipment is totally up-to-date, who have a much larger choice of frames, and whose prices are much lower. I say 'sadly' but of course, I'm much better served now with the new opticians.

Isn't it a shame though, that market forces are driving smaller shops out of business in this way? Presumably, in time, there will only be huge shopping conglomerates left. Or am i I being a dinosaur again? (Don't answer that!)

HIGH FINANCE

I was in a sports shop being served by a 'Saturday girl'. Just in case my international readers need a translation (get me!) this means a school-aged teenager who is doing a weekend job to pump up their spending money.

I handed over the item, which was priced at £5.99, together with my payment of £6 in the form of a £5 note plus a £1 coin. The shop was a bit down-market (obviously, since I was a customer) so the till wasn't the complex electronic type which tells the staff how much change is due.

I watched the cogs turning in the girl's head as she first inspected the note and the coin as if I had handed her a boa constrictor then triumphantly managed to mentally add them together to a total of £6. Growing in confidence, she rang up the £5.99 and then hit her next obstacle.

Her eyes played tennis between the money and the price as she struggled to calculate how much change she should be handing over to the expectant old git waiting on the other side of the counter. After what seemed like an ice age she tentatively dropped a 2p coin in my hand.

I'm not sure which was most shameful. Was it the dire state of the level of numeracy which our schools are attaining in their students? Or was it the fact that I pocketed the extra 1p and hurriedly left the shop?

THE STATE OF MY ECONOMONEY

The world is in recession and for once, Britain leads the way. At the last count the nation was worth £3.28p plus a few pesetas left over from the holiday. The Queen has even summoned the Governor of the Bank of England to ask him what's left in her piggy bank. Brokers are jokers, bankers are wankers, butchers are selling entrails and charity shops are re-branding as chic boutiques.

But there may be an upside. What we are seeing is a commercial revolution. A well-known shirt shop whose shirts usually sell at £65-£85 suddenly announced that all their stock was for sale at £19 per shirt. I'd never been in the store before, assuming that you had to be a member of their gentleman's club to shop there. Woo-Hoo! I was lording it round there, tossing shirts around with gay abandon. OK - I was looking at sizes way too small but as I said to the lackey who tried to direct me to the bull-neck section, I was just checking patterns out before thinking about a purchase.

With the sharks circling, I ambled over to the 17 inch collar shirts. Foolishly, I reached out to touch one. Smelling blood, an assistant moved in. "What is your arm length Sir?" Resisting the temptation to reply that it runs from my shoulder to my wrist I muttered something about 'regular'. "Double cuff or button?" "Chest pocket or plain?" "Stiff collar or soft?" Treating these questions like annoying flies I waved them away and set off for the charity shop where they sell shirts without sharks!