It's always useful to establish some fundamental ground rules at the beginning of the relationship. Having said that I tried to and failed abysmally.

In my single days any shopping trips were planned with the precision of a Second World War commando raid. Short, sharp attacks. In, get what you want and then out again, before Fritz has even managed to stagger out of his bunk, in the Befehlslager. All tightly timetabled. I've lost count of the number of times I went in looking for a pair of jeans and came out with an ill-fitting pair of Farrah stay-crease action slacks, just so I didn't miss the rendezvous with the Royal Navy torpedo boat, over by the recycling bins, in the corner of the car park at the Alhambra Centre.

I've tried to carry over this philosophy now I'm in a relationship. The trouble is my other half does like to dawdle. We pop into Asda "for a few bits" which usually translates into a couple of trolley loads. Gerry's rushed a couple of battalions of Fallschirmjaeger into the breach to cut off our escape, before we get anywhere near the check outs. I join the ranks of the thousands of brave young lads cut down needlessly in the frozen food section by pinpoint mortar fire. When asked by the staff member (happy to help) whether I'd like to try a sample of the latest cheese, she might as well be saying, "For you Tommy, ze war is over"....

The only positive development has been the advent of internet shopping. Oh, the joy of being able to order from the comfort of ones' own home. Freed from the hassle of having to enter the bear pit, which is the average shopping centre. The sweating stress of the supermarket replaced by the click of a mouse. If you play it right, you’ll never have to express an opinion about women’s clothing again, whilst waiting bored and disinterested outside a changing room in Dorothy Perkins. The only downside being that inevitably when your purchases are delivered, you will have nipped out for five minutes, meaning you then have a 45 minute drive to another county to pick them up from the "local" distribution centre.

The great thing is it's all done from the privacy of ones' own home. I must admit to deriving a certain warped pleasure from bidding on ebay, whilst sat bollock naked, save for a pair of union jack flip flops. Strangely this mirrors a recurrent dream I've been having recently where I'm bidding enthusiastically on a house at auction on the BBC1 programme "Homes under the Hammer", when I suddenly notice I'm not wearing any clothes. Some time later, after I've clinched the sale, the presenter, Lucy Alexander comes round to admire my medium sized semi. Strange days...

Whoever coined the term "retail therapy" could only have been referring to the type of treatment dished out to Malcolm McDowell in A Clockwork Orange. Frankly a run in with the Gestapo would have been more palatable than your average trip down to Morrisons.

Anyway must go, I'm minutes away from owning a new Peter Werth shirt and this computer chair really is starting to chafe on my buttocks.