The regrets of an Internet shopper

Notes to self:

Because you like the blue one, and it fits, and it was a bargain, it doesn't necessarily mean you will like the pink one. Plus, you hate pink. Remember?

When you've got the garment out of the packaging, and tried it on, ask yourself this simple question: would I buy this if I were in a changing room and didn't have to pack it up and trudge off to the post office if I didn't like it? If the answer to this is no, then SEND IT BACK. Now. The regret you feel now will be as nothing compared to how you will feel six months down the line, when the damned thing is still sitting unworn in your wardrobe.

The same applies to gifts. The recipient won't appreciate that you spent hours choosing that Thing online if they - and you, secretly - know they probably won't like it.

Because something is in the sale, this does not mean it is nicer. In fact it's almost certainly not. That's why it's in the sale. You're tempted. Of course you are. But remember the old mantra: a bargain is not a bargain if it's not something you like or need.

If you see something you really, really like, and it's available in your size, and you can afford it, then BUY IT. Do not wait, and wonder, and brood, and finally decide, only to find it's now available in every size but yours.

Shoes and speeding courses and a bad Internet day

First, the shoes.

I wanted some sandals - I love sandals - and have recently ordered several pairs and sent them all back. Wrong fit/appearance whatever. Then I sent for another pair. Wonderfully comfortable, but I didn't really love them (someone once said to my daughter: "never buy any clothing you don't love, because if you don't love it when you buy it, you certainly won't love it when you get it home". This is so true. My wardrobe is full of things I don't love. I hang on to them for a while, and then they go to Oxfam).

Anyway, the sandals. I didn't grow to love them, so arranged for John Lewis to collect them. J L were very helpful, and would collect them the next day.

But wait! Upon checking my Amazon orders, I found that the sandals had come from Amazon, not J Lewis. Oops. Arranged to return them to Amazon (are you still with me?), grovelled to J Lewis. All this took some time. But what took the most time was worrying about my crumbling brain. How did I manage to make this stupid, stupid mistake? And why were J L so happy to collect something they didn't sell me in the first place?

On to the Speed Awareness Course. Simple to book on line, they said. No. Not simple at all. After thinking I'd booked one in Bedfordshire,  I found they seemed to think I wanted to go to Hampshire. In the end, I phoned them. Long, long wait (probably part of my ongoing punishment for driving a little too fast), plus horrible tune (more punishment), then finally managed to arrange it. The whole thing took nearly an hour (and you may not believe this, but I've left out quite a lot of this boring tale).

Plus, we'd resolved to have an alcohol-free day today.  Sigh.

I never learn...

...NOT to  buy clothes via the internet!

My "wardrobe" (and here, I mean the place where I hang my clothes;  not my collection of designer "pieces) is crammed with awful mistakes. It happens like this:

1. See item on the internet
2. Think it looks nice, and I won't have to trawl round the shops looking for whatever it is and taking my clothes on and off in cramped changing rooms
3. Deliberate. At langth (I'm not one of nature's rapid decision-makers).
4. Buy item.
5. It arrives. Not quite as nice as I thought, but will it look better on?
6. It doesn't look better on. But not exactly horrible, either.
7. Further deliberation. Maybe item will improve over time (this is ridiculous, since inanimate objects don't tend to do this). Plus, returning items is a bore, and I am lazy (and herein lies the rub).
8. Decide to keep it.
8. Wear it.
9. Hate it.
10. Wear it again (because you can't wear a garment you've paid for only once, can you?)
11. Still hate it.
12. Item languishes in wordrobe, because I've got to keep it for a certain length of time before I give myself permission to dispose of it.
11. Oxfam shop.

PS I have just given a strange grey sweater its second statutory wearing, and can now get rid of it. After all, I've had it all winter, even though I've only worn it twice.

PPS Strange grey sweater, size 12, anyone?

User's guide to on-line shopping

On-line shopping is great. You save all that travelling, all those crowds, and (at Christmas) that dreadful disembodied voice chanting "do they know it's Christmas?" (yes, of course they do; that's why they're here) from somewhere in the region of the ceiling. And you don't have to buy expensive coffee/lunch/light refreshments, taken because you need to REST YOUR FEET NOW, before they kill you. That's the upside.

Now for the downside.

You log on. Great. You are asked for your password. Password? Why do you need a password? I've no idea, but you do. If you don't have one, provide it now. If you have one, try to remember what it was. Is it the one you use for the bank? Or the one that has to have numbers in it? Or the one with more than 22 letters? Whatever. If you can't remember it, no worries. They will email you a new one. Which means you have to log off and find your emails. Ah. There we are. It's arrived. Your new password is (something like) E35YvZ78sLL0. Nice and easy to rememeber. And you can change it to another if you want to (now, why on earth would you want to do that?). Log on again.

Are you still with me? Good. Now, do your shopping (allow more time for indecision/finding out that they haven't got it in your size or colour etc etc), fill in all the details and go to the checkout. Great. Nearly there.

Or are you?

You have filled in the form, but you have done something wrong. They tell you you have done something wrong, but not what it is. It's for them to know, and you to find out. Name, address, phone no, hair colour - all done. Ah - but have you ticked that tiny little box about abiding by "terms and conditions"? You haven't? Well, tick it, then. No. You don't have to read the terms and conditions, but tick the box, otherwise you have wasted the last two hours.

Then bank details, and that bit about leaving things in the porch/with a neighbour/under the gooseberry bush or wherever if you're not in when it arrives, and you're done. You've bought a pot of face cream, and it only took you three hours. Great.

Then (and this happened to me today), you find after all that, you have been sent the wrong item. You email. No reply. You phone, and find it's an 0844 number (5p a minute, and they keep you waiting for ages, and it wasn't your fault, so you're getting cross), and eventually nice Matt tells you he'll send you the right item, and refund the phone call, and everythng wil be fine again. All you have to do now is trog down to the post office to post back the thing they sent you by mistake. And stand in a queue for hours.

AAAAAAARGH!

The joys of internet shopping

Well, I'm getting along quite nicely (we have a large family - seven children and fourteen grandchildren between us, for starters) and I have hardly left the house for Christmas shopping purposes. But there are pitfalls.

For instance, I have received two identical items which I don't remember ordering at all (I must have pressed the Wrong Button. The Wrong Button lies in wait for people like me). And then there is the knotty problem of the password.

Like most people, I have a main password which I can remember (anyone who knows me, and who has half a brain, could work that one out). And then there are a couple for when you need more letters, which are a bit dodgy. And then there is the one you have to think up which includes numbers as well as letters (I've forgotten that one entirely). Add to all that, I have two big issues (have you noticed that people no longer have problems; they have issues?).

1. Why do I need a password at all to go shopping? I don't have to have one to enter Boots or Tesco's. I don't even need my passport.

2. Why when they send me a new passord, is it something like 8Zsd1Py8Xn? That's not a password. It's a puzzle. Or some kind of esoteric mathematical problem.

Meanwhile, the parcels are arriving thick and fast, and I'm still wondering what to do with the two items I didn't order.

Does anyone want a small, fluorescent vest?