Not only does the Mrs insist that I need to buy a Christmas hat for our morbidly obese three legged cat Oakley but she then tasked me with making the purchase. And thus I found myself in a store called The Range which is a consumerist paradise for poor people with no taste whatsoever. You want a masturbating Christmas gnome for your garden? This is the place to get it. Ghastly Christmas decorations utterly unrelated to the nativity in 15 shades of gold and silver for your council flat are what you crave. Come along to The Range and you will be spoiled for choice.
I waited until after dark lest anyone recognise me and wandered in moving swiftly to the pets section where, naturally, there was an abundance of Christmas gifts for your dog and cat. The Mrs had mentioned getting a whole Santa outfit for poor Oakley but sadly while there was one for dogs it was probably too small for Oakley to pour himself into.
But there was no complete escape. There was no Santa hat but there was an elves hat complete with brown ear muffs and a strap to keep it in place. Naturally Oakley will pose with patience in this hat, for our home made Christmas cards but I'm not so sure that it is a terribly spiritual message about the Season of Goodwill that we will be sending to our nearest and dearest.
I could not help but wander along aisles and aisles of complete and utter tuch. It was voyeurism as I gazed at a world that is just not mine. I suppose I should be thoroughly ashamed for being such a complete snob. But the place really was ghastly, an emporium of bad taste.
Consoling myself with the purchase of a packet of dried banana chips, the healthy option, I headed to the counter and with some shame put the chips and the elves hat on the counter. Having parted with £2.49 I buried the hat of shame deep in my pocket and headed home, a much postponed job completed.