Why do people do it, why can't we abstain from the evils of consumerism for more than a couple of days?
I'm usually in the habit of feeling a bit smug during the bank holidays; sitting back and looking down my judgemental nose at all those panic ridden people queuing to get into the Garden Centres, DIY stores and even bloody supermarkets.
There they go, crawling along bumper to bumper, the gaps between each car so small quantum had to be invented! Eyes to the front to avoid eye contact with the poor sod in the side street trying, like the rest, to purchase something they never knew they wanted until this morning. Most of them grumbling, wanting to know why every other bugger has decided they need a tray of Busy Lizzies and a wind chime, and today of all bloody days! The rest, resigned to the futility; veterans of the bank holiday shop.
But now I have to hold my hands up for I too have succumbed. After just three days cabin fever set in, the urge came and I too joined the masses. Clutching the mighty card of credit off I trotted, I knew not where. There was no plan, no list of needs or even wants.
The first destination was quickly abandoned after I viewed in the distance, a row of windscreens glinting in the abnormal-for-a-bank-holiday sun. Quick turn and off to destination two then; a stalwart for the bank holiday crowd, however, on the way I couldn't think of a single thing I wanted there and as didn't care for it much on a working day I carried on, off to join queue number three instead.
The rest of the day was spent planting the stuff I'd bought (which was totally justified as I'd lost a fair bit over the winter and just hadn't gotten round to replacing it yet - honest!) and wishing I'd bought that wind chime.
Next weekend I'll go back to feeling smug, it may not make me a nice person but I'll have clean nails.
I'm usually in the habit of feeling a bit smug during the bank holidays; sitting back and looking down my judgemental nose at all those panic ridden people queuing to get into the Garden Centres, DIY stores and even bloody supermarkets.
There they go, crawling along bumper to bumper, the gaps between each car so small quantum had to be invented! Eyes to the front to avoid eye contact with the poor sod in the side street trying, like the rest, to purchase something they never knew they wanted until this morning. Most of them grumbling, wanting to know why every other bugger has decided they need a tray of Busy Lizzies and a wind chime, and today of all bloody days! The rest, resigned to the futility; veterans of the bank holiday shop.
But now I have to hold my hands up for I too have succumbed. After just three days cabin fever set in, the urge came and I too joined the masses. Clutching the mighty card of credit off I trotted, I knew not where. There was no plan, no list of needs or even wants.
The first destination was quickly abandoned after I viewed in the distance, a row of windscreens glinting in the abnormal-for-a-bank-holiday sun. Quick turn and off to destination two then; a stalwart for the bank holiday crowd, however, on the way I couldn't think of a single thing I wanted there and as didn't care for it much on a working day I carried on, off to join queue number three instead.
The rest of the day was spent planting the stuff I'd bought (which was totally justified as I'd lost a fair bit over the winter and just hadn't gotten round to replacing it yet - honest!) and wishing I'd bought that wind chime.
Next weekend I'll go back to feeling smug, it may not make me a nice person but I'll have clean nails.
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