AND still we come, dragging ourselves through the doors of the nearest supermarket, crawling along High Streets awash with the signs of the times - Up to 90 per cent off!, Huge Reductions!, Clearance Sale, Closing Down - Everything Must Go!

We cannot get enough. No, really, we can't. Just when we think we've had enough, some primal urge drives us on to the next bargain, the next purchase of some more or less useless item that will be worn/used/played with once, or perhaps not at all.

Knee-deep in recession we may be, but that seems to give us more of an excuse to spend - just like the Government, which never tires of wishing to have its cake and eat it - wants us to.

This sort of buying is an extension of that perennial festive season phenomenon - the over-purchasing of basic food items in the bizarre belief that the supermarkets will not be open again for, ooh, at least three weeks.

Earlier this week I ventured to my nearest everything-under-one-roof emporium for a few items we needed, to keep visiting relatives' stomachs full during New Year.

That, remember, is one day's closing at most these days, and for some shops it is not even that.

My fellow shoppers, and I suspect myself, wore the haggard looks of folk caught in a extended ordeal of consumption, not necessarily just physical but mental too.

Trolleys were still laden to the brim with goods: Half price cheese boards ("For pity's sake, haven't you eaten enough damned CHEESE?" "Yes, but now I'm going to eat the board."); £3 straight-to-DVD movies ("This one sounds good. A 'high spirited heist caper in the manner of Ocean's 11' according to the cover." "Jeez, I'll cut my losses and watch Mamma Mia."); bargain packs of Christmas cards ("For next year. Well, you can never start too early.") Yes, you damn well can.

The prime example of this knee-jerk buying remains however, the mass purchase of bread.

My mother is an enthusiastic adherent to the principle of festive overstocking when it comes to bread.

Many have been the Christmas nd New Year's Eves when the pantry door could not be closed properly because of the stacks of sliced whites piled up behind it from floor to ceiling.

Five loaves in, and she finally realised that yes, as the crusts began to go green, the rest of the family was right. She had bought too much.

On the day this piece was written, said parent was anticipated for a New Year stay. By the time these words are read by you, dear readers, your correspondent may be buried under an avalanche of thick cut toasting bread.

Maybe by the time I've dug or eaten my way out, the frenzy will be over, and the sales will be finished, our High Streets empty forever as the economic downturn plunges on.

Then, no doubt, I'll feel hard done by at missing a possible bargain, and feel the need for a spot of comfort eating.

Down to the corner shop for a fresh loaf, then.