Following another damp bank holiday, ranting has become easier than normal. This week's topic, the great british institution that is the pound shop.
Like em or hate em, Pound shops have exploded in popularity and become as British as the Friday night kebab and Chicken Tikka Massala. We're rather blessed where we live as the ratio of pound shops to normal outlets seems to increase every week. Soon, every shop will be a pound shop. But what of the merchadise, I hear you cry. What of it...
About a year ago, Becky from Cornonation Street opened a new pound shop our way (if that hasn't got class written all over it, what has) You've got to understand, it was a pure fluke that we were in the vicinity that day, but it gave me the chance to sample their delights.
Canned food from obscurely named companies with dubious sell by dates, razors that take your skin off when you shave, perfume and deodorant guaranteed to cause rashes, socks that fit triangular shaped feet, packets of vegetable seeds that don't grow, toys that fall apart within seconds, oven dishes that don't like heat...
But it only cost a pound. You can hardly get annoyed that the garden gnome loses all it's colour after the first downpour or the 1kg of coffee you bought tastes bitterer than a vinegar sandwich. It's only a pound, you just can't get annoyed.
But that's what annoys me, all the pounds I've wasted in pound shops over the past year could probably have bought me the same amount of stuff that might have lasted, or at least tasted of what it was supposed to.
Probably the most concerning item I saw on a recent visit was pound shop condoms. Seriously, would you trust them? I wasn't that surprised to see they're also selling pregnancy tests.
This country, eh?