I love shopping – until I need to buy something

I love shopping…unless I’m actually out buying something.  Does that make sense? Probably not, so I’ll explain.

Firstly, apologies if there are areas of this blog without spacing, my space bar seems to have gone on strike.

Right, so shopping.  Wandering along Princes Street on a Saturday afternoon is a complete nightmare.  People walking in all directions looking like they have no idea where they are going and if they bump into you, you get the “tut” from them and dirty look.  Fair enough.

Outside Primark you’ll usually find a gaggle of men, all dragged along to chum their other halves shopping, only to be left outside while the OH jostles away with 80,000 other women – and the odd bloke – inside.  I reckon someone with a mobile burger van could make a fortune by parking up out there on a Saturday afternoon.  I wonder how many friendships have been forged by blokes standing outside Primark on a Saturday afternoon who just casually start a conversation.

Maybe not though as they always seem to be enthralled by their phones.  Texting their mates no doubt, to complain about their predicament.

Alright mate? Been left standing outside Primark – again!

Aye, I know pal, I’m ten feet away from you.  Pint?

Shopping in town on a Saturday afternoon is not to be recommended.

Shopping during the week is though.  I am ever thankful for the days off during the week that I get.  Town is quieter, less menfolk hovering outside Primark.  Inside the shops it doesn’t look like they’ve experienced a riot – everything is neatly on shelves and hangers.  It’s an altogether more pleasant experience if you have the chance to go during the week.  Not nearing Christmas of course.  People seem to abandon work at Christmas and shop from opening until closing time seven days a week.

Anyway, shopping during the week is a bonus if you can and I personally love it.  Particularly if I can get to Ocean Terminal and have a tea and a pink cupcake in peace and quiet.

Tea and Cup Cake


Wandering around shops is wonderful, just popping in and out, the shops are less busy so an assistant will ask you if they can help you in any way and sometimes they can, sometimes the can’t depends what you’re doing.  Usually what I’m doing is just wandering, seeing what shops are offering and I like doing that alone or with other people, both is fine.

The problem comes when I’m actually after something.  Whether it’s a new outfit for a night out, a birthday present for someone else or specific food shopping, it’s all bad.  I could call it Specific Shopping.  Meaning, instead of wandering around happily in shops admiring all in there, I have, instead, gone to buy something specific – and it’s a nightmare.

Shopping becomes hell when after something specific.  Why? Because you will never find it.  At least, I never do.  I could traipse about the shops from dawn until dusk looking for that perfect top for a night out and I won’t find it.  I’ll end up home, knackered and ironing a top I’ve had for five years to go with trousers I’ve had for three.

If I ever invite you to come shopping with me immediately ask if it’s Specific Shopping, if it is, say no immediately and refuse to change your mind.  Stick to your guns.  I can’t do Specific Shopping with another person in tow, it doesn’t work.  Undoubtedly if you’re with me you’ll want to look at some item in some shop and I’ll get impatient, foot tapping at first, followed by “I haven’t got all day” and ending up with me probably just walking away.

Then, the worst thing that could possibly happen while you’re chumming me Specific Shopping – you’ll find something to buy, without even trying, you’ll find it and you’ll buy it.  You’ll stride up to the cash desk, item in hand, grinning like a winner and purchase your item.  It’ll fit perfectly without you trying it on first, it’ll also have had 20% off that day.

Specific Shopping on my own is vital.  I can, and have, walked Princes Street three times in one day looking for an outfit for a wedding.

That, dear reader, is my shopping tale.