It wasn't exactly heaving out there in the great shopping land of Manchester today.

And yet, in spite of little in the way of jostling crowds - and much in the way of shops - could I find a pair of comfy shoes for trolleying to work in?

Of course not.

It's the sod's law of shopping isn't it.

The one pair I liked that were in my size turned out to be too big and the pair I liked that weren't in the sale (desperation at this point) they didn't have in my size at all.

Sooooooooo infuriating.

I tried on a skirt that looked gorgeous on the hanger and made me look quite hideous when I put it on. It even had the temerity to cost more than the dress I was wearing which I had bought at full price.

At this point I had to break for a reviving cup of tea and a read of the MEN. Our evening newspaper revealed very little except it's supposed to be -8 here tomorrow. Whatever happened to global warming?

Buoyed by by English breakfast brew I tottered on to the great, hallowed frock temple of Vivienne Westwood which did nothing but convince me that my taste is getting stratospherically expensive - even at sales prices.

Oh, mew, mew, mew, mew, mew!

Conscience has won out over desire.

I am banging that cash in an ISA before frock-love gets the better of me.

And so I ended up coming home with nothing to show for my day out but a face scrub and some room spray.

And so on to a pampering evening... yawn. Goodness, non-shopping is exhausting.