I forgot to mention in last week's post holiday piece that the kittens had a wonderful time with a houseful of children to play with them, lots of crackly paper and interesting toys and two Christmas trees to decimate.

Their favourite game was grabbing a branch of the larger tree and then letting it go, which sprayed needles in every direction. Eventually the tree was nearly bald and we all had pine needles stuck to and in our clothing, and very uncomfortable they were too, especially in items of an intimate nature. When everyone had gone, and the decorations had come down, they wandered round looking disconsolate; rather like my little grandson who kept saying 'Santa Claus coming today?' in a hopeful voice for at least a week after Christmas.

After the joys of Christmas comes the distinctly unjoyful post Christmas sales period. Given the choice of being dragged head first through the prickliest holly hedge on the planet or going to the sales, I'd go for the holly. I'd even go as far as to say I'd sooner clean the oven, so you know I have fairly strong feelings about sales.

It's not that I don't like bargains, I do. And sales at other times of the year are bearable. But I can never see why when the house is full of interesting food and drink, everyone has a little pile of new gifts and a reasonable feeling of goodwill to all men and women, anyone should want to go out into the cold, fight their way into an expensive parking place and wrestle their way through hundreds of other like-minded idiots, all in the cause of coming home with half price tea towels and a pile of non-matching pillowcases in strange colours.

And even if you don't go, you still have to sit and listen to sales woes; of being beaten to a particularly nice frilly nightie by a large lady wearing Doc Martens and carrying a sharpened umbrella. Or how it took two hours of queuing to pay for their goods in one store. And you also have to admire the contents of all the carriers and agree that a reduction of 80 per cent on that maroon evening top was a real snip WITHOUT pointing out that it's a trifle snug round the bosom and what a pity they only had it in the one size.

No, I can't be having it. For a start I get incandescent with rage when I discover the jumpers I purchased as gifts at full price just days ago are now marked down, which leads those for whom I bought them to believe that there was something wrong with them because they are now heaped untidily in a pile with a 50 per cent off sign.

What I also find is that people tend to buy things at the sales that they normally wouldn't be seen dead in just because they are incredibly cheap. Suddenly, that ginger and lime green mohair jumper is a must-have because it is now £2.45 instead of £49.99. It may still make you look like a sheep which has fallen into a vat of dye, but never mind, it is a bargain. What you must remember is that nobody else will know it was a bargain, they will think you bought it because you loved it and what is more if you tell them it was only £2.45 they will think you are a cheapskate as well.

It's not that I haven't fallen into this trap myself, because I have. I once bought a bottle green suit, which is strange in itself because I don't like bottle green, which was on its fifth markdown and a fraction of the new price and what was more in my size. I should have wondered at this because normally sales goods follow the Henry Ford principal of 'you can have it in any colour so long as it's black', or in the case of garments 'you can have it in any size so long as it's size twelve'.

I foolishly didn't try it on because the fitting rooms were packed. When I got it home the reason it was in my size and was so cheap was revealed, the suit wasn't a jacket and skirt it was a jacket and culottes. Now for any reader who doesn't know what culottes are I should explain that they are what used to be called a divided skirt and for some strange reason known only to themselves fashion designers have decided en masse that they actually suit larger people. Sadly this isn't true, because culottes only suit people with bottoms no larger than ping pong balls and hips like string beans. Anyone else they make look like an elephant wearing Bermuda shorts.

To make matters worse these culottes were cut a trifle high between the legs which made them resemble giant bloomers and somewhat uncomfortable to walk in as well. They were totally unwearable and it wasn't difficult to see why they had been on the sale rail.

Of course there are bargains to be had, no doubt about it, and if you are quick, have sharp elbows and a killer instinct, you can get the best of them. But do check the goods first, my aunt once galloped home in triumph with a beautiful bone china teapot without noticing that the spout was pointing downwards. Which, the shop pointed out when she took it back, was why it was marked 'seconds'.