A bargain missed

Over many years of nubial contentment, Mrs QO & I have come to an amicable agreement about shopping for clothes. Mrs QO's clothes, that is, since I hate shopping for myself. Once every two or three years I am forced to go out and purchase a shirt or pair of jeans, after which I will spend a couple of days in a darkened room with a cool pint of beer to recover. But it seems that my presence during Mrs QO's retail forays is occasionally welcome, if only to hold the various items that she intends to try on while she fingers the hem of a fifth or sixth garment. I am from time to time invited to voice an opinion on an outfit, though since I once accidentally channeled Gok Wan and shouted "Oh my God, that makes your bangers look amazing, darling!" she tends more often to trust her own judgement.

At any rate, the agreement mentioned above is, briefly, that I will accompany my dear helpmeet on a retail mission on the understanding that for every shop entered, I will consume one pint of beer. Seems reasonable, I'm sure you'll agree. So it was that on this sunny, breezy Sunday, we ventured forth into the city centre to acquire a summer suit.

I was, as usual in emporia dedicated to the shrouding of the female form, standing around like a spare part, when my eye fell on this:

Well, I really don't know where you'd find a better offer than that. Getting known-brand women at a reasonable price - certainly on my budget - has been something of a challenge for years. I've never been able to go so far upmarket as House of Fraser women, but equally anyone with any social conscience has scruples about Primark women these days. Littlewoods women were more suited to the over-50s (and in any case the shop's gone now), Debenhams women were always a bit of a trial to return if they didn't fit, and Waterstone's women are all so earnest and bookish. And we won't even mention Poundland women. Even I have my standards.

So you can imagine my excitement, I'm sure. John Lewis women at roughly the same price as the sadly-departed Woolworths! It was indeed with Woolies in mind that I decided to indulge myself with a little 'Pick & Mix', so while Mrs QO was trying on a ludicrously skimpy top I wandered over to the sales counter and commenced negotiations. I said I was thinking of the ash-blonde lady with the exquisitely-sculptured cheekbones on the Hosiery desk, the bootylicious dusky one on Kitchen Appliances and the studious redhaired goddess of Gardening.

Things were going swimmingly, and only three security guards had arrived, but Mrs QO found me at that point and took me sharply by the ear. I issued several sharp squeaks of protest, but notwithstanding she dragged me to the Lincolnshire Poacher and injected me with several pints of beer. And so passed a golden opportunity.

Ah well. Perhaps there'll be another sale in the autumn.