Last night I inadvertently stayed awake until something approaching 1am. I didn’t mean to but it turns out that the internet is a massive distraction to all things. Especially when you don’t really want to go to bed because it means work comes all the quicker.
So in between having a discussion on Facebook about what one of my friends should have as a tattoo (suggestions include a cock, the Marvel character Blade and the whole of the Facebook discussion etched onto her flesh for all time), making widdle jokes with Lucy Porter on Twitter and waiting in vain for Helen Keen’s “It Is Rocket Science” to appear on iPlayer because I’d forgotten to listen to it last night, I found myself browsing Amazon.
And then I realised that it was just after midnight and I could see what the Kindle daily deal was. Since I got my Kindle proper (having previously used the iPhone app) the Deal of the Day has been consistently bobbins. But I hopped over to Amazon, followed the link for the Deal of the Day and bought it. Just like that. No messing, no thinking about it. It appealed to me because it was one of the books that inspired the Aardman film The “Pirates: In An Adventure With Scientists” and it was only 99p. So there we go, job done.
But then I started feeling awful. Not because I was so fast and loose with my life savings, squandering it on electronic books willy-nilly, but because I’d rocked up to the Amazon website just after the stroke of midnight to see what I could get for a penny shy of a pound. Which, I realised with the kind of startling realisation which would be best represented by that zoom shot of Chief Brody in Jaws when he realises there’s a shark in the water, is the internet equivalent of queuing up outside the Post Office in the morning so that you can be in there before the pension money runs out and everyone is sent home empty-handed.
When I realised what I’d done I almost wanted to click the button on my Kindle that says I’ve bought the book by accident. The one that says “What am I like, eh? Me, old sausage fingers. Just pressing buttons willy-nilly.” That way I could just give the book back and hide the shame. I could always have popped back later in the day to purchase the book like a normal, sane human and not one who has the bargain-buying munchies in the wee small hours of the morning.
But I didn’t do that. I kept the book, and carried the shame around with me like a child who suddenly refuses to walk anymore and insists on being carried. But no-one will find out about it, so that’s alright.