I watched the news today with a snigger, as people stampeded through a door in London after having queued for hours in the rain in order to save £3.50 on a pair of trainers. As I sat on the sofa in front of the fire, I did ask myself whether that £3.50 could ever make up for looking an arse on national news?
I've never really understood the desire for material things that would warrant that amount of effort - the only thing that I feel would be that valuable would be one's health or a cup of tea and an hour's peace, neither of which would be remotely improved by queuing in a puddle next to a pile of people wondering if there was an app for weeing behind a car without anyone seeing.
To me, it's second only in complete pointlessness to exterior Christmas lights. I can't imagine ever having enough time on my hands to warrant saying, "Oh, I think I'll just drag the ladder out of the shed and climb up in the rain and fart about with a tangle of lights". Saying that, nor can I imagine ever having enough money to justify buying dozens of wire reindeers for other people to look at as my electricity metre spun around.
I read this over for grammar, but have just learnt something about myself: what a miserable bastard...