Going to the sales with The Neighbours

Peering through the curtains on a particularly cold, dank and dark
morning I see that they have the car engine revving. As I wipe away the
condensation across my bedroom window, I see that it is a new one. A
blue Sunnybeam family estate packed with Mr, Mrs, teenage girl, young
boy and Great Aunt. it would be a funny squashed arrangement of the
Lower Middle Classes if I didn't have to squeeze my bulk in between
them.

Fortunately it isn't a long journey. A short chug into the big town and
its big department store. Imperfect parking, but now we are here.

We have to queue for a while with other similarly dressed people with
the same half bored, half-expectant looks on their faces.

Once the doors creak open we are attracted by a colourful sign
proclaiming 'Bargain Sale'. Like one swift, amorphous animal we glide
over towards it. A unified sigh: no real reductions so we glide swiftly
back to find some other quarry.

We have better luck in the clothing section. Neatly arranged piles are
quickly scattered. Airy pastels become mixed up with daring scarlet and
black scarves. We all gape. The canny nosed woman, the bleary eyed man,
the bored little boy, the fashion intoxicated teenager all leer at the
same stripped box.

A rather plumpish woman pushes through and burrows under a mass of
woollen and synthetic fabrics. Deeper, deeper, deeper. Then jerkily
out, with a scowl. They haven't got her size. Then a smile as she
scoops up a fury garment and holds it tight towards her, and then held
high for the tank park salute. Our eyes, reinforced by purt lips, blaze
at her.

I move on past assorted hand painted pottery with no history, towards
another once ordered pile being thrown into a state of confusion. I
stand back this time from this microcosm of expression where the
Chancellor's policy is played out with apparent spontaneity.

I contemplate writing a manual to help with all of this, probably about
thirty pages so it could be a pocket book, with chapters headed 'Daring
Reflexes', 'Eagle Eyes' and 'The Essential Refreshments To Take'. But I
expect it would probably end up in next year's bargain bin. I glance at
my watch. I'd better get moving.

After chugging back in the car more slowly I return, wearily, to my
dark and cold flat. I spend a slow, regretful and tiresome evening
shifting through the bags and boxes of items I don't want. These ones
are particularly ghastly. I suppose I'll use them as presents for next
Christmas. These jumpers will make nice gifts for the neighbours.