Sales Mania: Remember when we could go to the Sales..... by Felicity Kaye

Oh, good old January –the New Year – my birthday – and – I almost forgot; the sales. Nothing would deter me from bracing the crowds to hunt for those glorious, and not so glorious bargains. But what for? Surely it is about time I stopped and considered just what I might be buying; its quality and value? But no. I always seemed to make the same mistake – I just cannot resist buying a bargain – no matter what it is. And even if the item isn’t quite what I wanted at the time, a use can always be found for its; well sometimes…….

It was Saturday, 2 pm. I arrived at the half-price sale of a major store in Oxford Street. The sign stated:  “Look for the gold spot for the real reductions which are 22½% off the sale price!” Aha! I thought, so they’re beating the others to it! I headed for the clothes counter first; in my previous year's rags. I saw rows of empty hangers. There were half-torn garments ravaged by eager hands and ripped recklessly at the seams. I tried one on – too small – I bulged. I tried another – too large – I ballooned. I viewed the lurid leftovers. It was like changing one set of rags for another, except for the added bit of sparkle, like the glitter on a Christmas tree. I wondered hopelessly through the Evening-wear department. Those visions in silver and gold wouldn’t last long, I considered. There were quite a lot of evening dresses. However when does a Cinderella like me ever get invited to any balls? An Arab lady was gabbling frantically, negotiating the bargain price of a very expensive lower than low cut, evening dress. I was getting out of my price range here – this meant another trip to the good old charity shop full of exclusive seconds, in February. I heard a voice in my ear. 

   “This will suit you dear!” said a trying to be helpful lady.

   “But, it’s torn!” I exhorted. 

   “Oh no, dear; this is the latest style, didn’t you know?” 

No, I jolly well didn’t! What she really sure that this delicate Indian kaftan with silver threads streaming from every corner and the occasional hole at the seams, was in vogue? To me, it looked like a good way to catch a cold. I moved on. I saw a rather plump lady go for a remnant of a 1920s Charlston dress, which had once been white. Layers of fringes on a satin background, hung, layer by layer, to just below the knees. But it appeared to be far too tight. I watched with interest as she tried on another one. This one was too wide and the final fringe trailed along the ground. I was glad she decided that the turquoise in silver striped “skirt” gathered round the waist like bonbon paper, didn’t suit her.

I tried on some lime green trousers. They clung around my bottom; yet they were the largest size. I tore them off my body in disgust. Suddenly I came upon a pair of trousers for a few pounds; hanging on a rail on the fifth floor. There were thousands of them, all the same peach colour. With a little luck, I could just get away with peach. I did consider a string vest, which was really going cheap; but it’s was far too “punky” for me. What would I wear it with, or maybe was meant to be worn alone? But it might make a very good dish cloth……

The socks and tights counter looked more promising. Surely there would be lots of bargains here. I dived into the tights along with about 20 other people. A plastic leg covered in gold lame 10 denier nylon fell on top of my head from the shelf above. I can take more knocks than that, I triumphantly declared to myself. The support tights glared at me for 50p, but I hadn’t got varicose veins – yet. There were millions of maternity tights – which were fine for those expecting – I wasn’t. There were lots of 10 and 20 denier tights, but I couldn’t find one packet of 40 denier. This is sheer hell, I muttered to myself; but if I bought up all the holy tights, I wouldn’t have to worry any more. There were some tights with a ladder design – good idea, how clever of the manufacturers and just what I needed. Unfortunately, all the useful colours, navy blue and tan, were all gone – and I needed some dark to cover up as I don’t have the most elegant of legs. Of no use were all those packets of white lacy and pink rosette tights; ideal for blondes but no good for me. There were some with stripes going the wrong way; now if they’d gone the other way… but it couldn’t be helped. There were plenty of pop socks, in pink, purple and pale mauve, but they never seemed to keep my feet warm. The zebra and giraffe patterned legwarmers, though not fashionable, were too large; useful for football matches if you like them; personally I don’t… Then my eyes circled something I had always wanted – a spotty headband. Quite good for people like me with short hair. There were plenty of buttons on the haberdashery store – but I usually got mine cheaper at jumbles. Then I saw a very pretty umbrella, with a frill too. I opened it happily – it turned out to be just perfect for a 10-year-old. I tried on a tartan hat with a tassle. It looked enormous, but the middle bit wouldn’t go around my head.

I rushed to the shoe store in despair. Must be some hope for me here! There was a shelf of phallic shaped lumps of bright red material stuffed with sponge. 

  “What on earth are those?” I asked the assistant 

  “Shoe horns” she replied.

Well, I didn’t need those! My feet alone, were enough to stretch any kind of shoes I might be wearing. The half-price bargain started out at an exorbitant rate, apart from some rainbow coloured wellingtons at £10, that nobody wanted. There were lots of snow boots – too bad spring was on the way. There were some rather strange looking canvas shoe boots printed in black and white squares. I’d look like a walking chessboard in those! Some bright pink suede lace ups – ugh! Some clumsy black patents with extra large buckles and a few pairs of extraordinarily high, high-heeled gold and silver evening shoes which were most unsuitable for an old double E sized flatty like me. There were lots of moccasins with suede tassels and plastic beads, fit for all the red Indian tribes living in London, but most unsuitable for wet weather. They might go with the Indian kaftan, but there were definitely not quite right for working hours. In desperation, I tried on a pair of men’s Japanese exercise sandals. Voila! They fitted perfectly and were jolly good for the reflexes; but the price……

Suddenly, I scented the perfume counter, displaying green and gold elaborately wrapped boxes of an expensive kind. But where was the tester! I searched for it frenziedly. It turned up on the make-up counter. 

  “Let it settle first.” said the assistant as I eagerly held up my wrist to be sprayed.

I was too excited. I raised my wrist to my nose and just prevented myself from swooning. It smelt like a mixture of household cleaner and citrus fruit. 

  “No thanks” I said “It’s not me!” 

I would never be such a lemon as to wear that; unless I was trying to sour a good relationship. Fool! They were unwanted specimens. That’s why they were so cheap. I bought a phial (more like a sample) of a well-known make of perfume for £1.50 and felt slightly better – I suppose roses smelled better than lemons. It seemed more symbolic. I could go to parties as an English rose. Then the ever-growing hole in the ozone layer over the Antarctic clouded my thoughts, and the fact that by spraying myself with an aerosol I was contributing to its size. I exchange the rose perfume for a powder puff. Most of the other bottles and sprays were half empty; and they all contained vile things like lavender and anti-wasp spray and multi-coloured vitamin pills (with all those E additives in the colouring, I’d probably feel worse than I was before I took them). There were lots of dry skin creams and lotions, no use in my case, as I had greasy skin. I grabbed some cheap shampoo for dry hair, then remembered I had greasy hair too. Anyway, the bottle leaked.

FANTASTIC REDUCTIONS  leapt before my eyes. I threw my cracked handbag mirror into the bin and bought another one for 20p. It seemed slightly concave and distorted my face somewhat but it was better than nothing. There were some rather pretty Chinese fans, but they all fell apart on opening. Flannels again! Who wanted a load of lousy flannels anyway! It was the same every year. Who cared what colour a flannel was. A flannel was a flannel and had one purpose only, whether it was red, pink, blue or yellow. Green soap crocodiles and pink soap pigs basked in baskets of straw. There was more soap – in a decorated box more expensive than the soap. Some poisonous looking bubble bath with a cartoon shaped head of a famous but unpopular personage swum to my head. Ready to wear nails gleamed in violet, crimson and red, suitable enough for Dracula. Tears came into my eyes and something stuck in my throat. At that precise moment I would have been grateful for the box of men’s handkerchiefs I had seen earlier. No, I didn’t want any more notepaper, a box of Christmas cards for next year, or last year’s diaries. I’d have to Tippex out the days again,once more, and I just couldn’t go through that without a second time. I had no use for a glittery address book covered in luminous stars that was too big to go in my handbag.

I descended to the basement for a final stab. Unwanted china and coffee pots glared   me in the eye defiantly – who wanted a coffee but anyway – I always used instant made it in the cup. Anyway, this one was enough for about 20 cups, but I suppose I could start having coffee mornings. There were some decorated cork tops to put on sherry decanters; but I didn’t have a decanter and I didn’t drink sherry, except when I got it from the duty-free. I turned to the TV to watch a demonstration by man soaking up those stubborn stains in one go, with a special sponge. From another TV a voice spoke; 

  “I’d like to display my new wok!”

If you show me yours, I thought, I’ll show you mine; but mine's a little rusty! A  third voice sounded from a loudspeaker… 

  “Put a little magic into your home… Half-price bargain… 10’ x 8…” 

Was it an elephant or a carpet? I couldn’t hear clearly. Perhaps either could transport me away to happier realms.

At last I discovered the bargain of the day: a bin for the bathroom – it had a handle too! It was only 2 pounds. How useful, I thought. 

  “Nice icebox!” somebody said. I looked again. I had wondered why it appeared to have a false bottom. Anyway, it was actually £22. It was cold enough in my flat without anything like ice boxes. Hot water bottles were more up my street. I couldn’t find any. All I had seen earlier were two piles of white rabbit and Pink Panther pyjama cases lolloping on some shelves; and I was too old for those. There were some electrically heated duvets, but I decided they were too dangerous for people like me who have cups of tea in bed.

Plastic gnomes glared at me from under large toadstools, in the gardening department. Some awful silver plated salad spoons shone at me – a fish knife for a fiver – a battery run beetle. Dammit! Who wanted them! Some proverbs engraved on pottery plaques, to hang on the wall, caught my eye. The message of one in particular taunted me. That’s what I discovered today, I thought: 

  “It’s the early bird that catches the worm”. 

I was just too late. Somehow, someone else had walked off with all the best bargains. Well, I’d just have to get upI just have to get up earlier next year!