It is, they tell me, Black Friday today. Indeed, they won't let me forget it, with every email arriving in my inbox blaring out some unbelievable never-to-be-repeated price-slashing offer or other. I guess it would be a good day to buy all my Christmas presents, not to mention every item of clothing or household appliance or heartfelt gift that I might need over the coming twelve months. But I gave it a miss. There seemed better things to do than spend all day trying to get online at the websites of my favourite stores, or fighting through the crowds at the local pound shop.
I suppose this all started, as with much else, in the Americas, when they had nothing better to do on the day after Thanksgiving. Much as our January sales were the start of a barely controlled shopping frenzy once we had managed to recover from Christmas lunch. But then the sales moved to Boxing Day, and then Christmas Eve, and year by year earlier and earlier. Where will it end? Will every day be a sales day apart from one or two days a year when the price is horrendous? Rather like when I was looking to buy the kitchen.
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