postman pat, parcels, delivery, shopping, amazon

Shopping and drinking

I shop when I’m drunk. I spend and spend and spend…..very little. My drunk shopping is not a ‘To hell with it’ howl into the hollows of the universe. It’s not £3000 of Balmain from Net-a-Porter or a snazzy piece of technology or a £5000 sofa or a shopping basket full of crazy-money skincare. It is not ‘get drunk and treble your wealth’ syndrome that various men I know suffer from when largesse grows as liver shrivels. My drunk shopping is not sexy and reckless and worthy of anecdote really. Last month I bought a set of six tea towels at 3am and not so long before that I stocked up on energy-saving light bulbs. I have replaced the broken glass bit of the cafetiere under the influence and also some unbreakable green plates at 50p a pop from Ebay.

It is as though the most mundane things  – like the most mundane people – become bearable (compelling, even) when I’m spannered. Even thinking about light bulbs makes me irritable and depressed when sober: I HATE that my life revolves around replacing broken disposable rubbish and I always get screwy ones when I need those pinny ones and my bedside table is like some kind of interrogation centre/guilty-basement-secret – because what is wattage anyway?

Drunk Ocado is always a laugh because I just order…..booze. No food. And maybe a new griddle pan or some such. It isn’t picking up strange men in bars or on apps. It isn’t a horribly compromising gambling habit. But it scratches some kind of itch…

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