THE STYLE SCRIMPER

...Yep,that's me and I confess those carrier bags (see below) are the property of moi.It has been a tough week at work floating in a very uncertain limbo land,stomach in knots worried sick that each day shift may just well be the last time I clock in and out.As all progress on the rescue of Peacocks goes silent...no news is good news,now what idiot spun that line?I tell you who,somebody who wasn't on the verge of redundancy,and trying to dodge this on/off (um isn't the recession back on again here in the UK?)recession.Heck I don't want to even go there,were bemused enough by that tiresome topic,no?Actually I from this moment have banned the R word,lets save such drab discussions for those opinionated intellectual Question Time types-go knock yourselves out.
I want to discuss one thing and one thing only.Sales.Ahh blissful sweet sweet sales.How you make my heart skip a beat.I ended up having the day off as a colleague asked if I could swap shifts with her,and frankly who am I to decline?I kicked my day off by dusting off and updating the old CV,better to be prepared during these competitive career times(...everybody is super eager to snatch that same one bitch of a ladder)CV customised and sprinkled lightly with embellishment I shot some copies off to various job posts.'Cause if you think I'm going to be forced to claim jobseekers you can think again,twice in three years is plenty enough thanks.After three hours it becomes apparent fashion jobs are far and few between,'tis bleak.
I had two options remaining I could slob out in my sweats i.e sagging leggings,slouchy band tee and frayed boyfriend cardie and scoff saturated fat savoury snacks whilst staring at brain dead day time TV,occasionally flicking back and fourth to This Morning with Holly whatshername giggling at nothing much.Nah.
Or I could depart from my comfy sexless sweats,stay away from the snack tin and snap up THOSE sales.Consider it done.


Being the bonkers fashion deprived female I am,I dash *remember to BREATHE* in the direction of the nearest cash machine,convert to religion (any one shall do at this exact moment in time)say my prays out loud,'Please God let there be more than nill available,oh God let my wages be in that damn hole.PLEASE.'Kaaahhh-chiing,starving for those juicy sales I punch in my hush-hush digits and discover I have the ability to actually run (and my old P.E teacher said I'd never be the athletic sort.HA!In.Your.Face...alright it was way over ten years ago.So let it go)as in not dragging my feet and breaking into a mild sweat.Suddenly I recall the last sale anti-climax from weeks and weeks back: walked away empty handed.The only one investment being a cheese melt baguette from the bakers.Tragic as that last shopping experience was,I won't be defeated or allow messy untidy sale rails intimidate me.No not this time,I've had the breakfast of champions (coffee and chocolate.Obvs.)and I'm hitting those sales HARD.
Hundreds of sale rails invaded,I wear these purple/blue bruises(everyone is flexing their fresh pay day slip it would seem?)with tremendous pride.As this style scrimper
(£40.00 was all I had to work with) done good.Saving £40.00 on a (once very pricey) Dorohthy P's winter cape coat was definitely the highstreet highlight of all highstreet highlights.My purchases came all guilt free too,with the knowledge that my transactions have had a positive if tiny impact upon the cash strapped economy.It's Okay my'ickle poor fragile economy.Your welcome.Any time,any time.






pics by prettyneons