HEADING out to the sales later? The post-Christmas sales have always been the busiest shopping period of the year.

For someone like me who would rather poke sharp things in his eyes than go shopping, you’re unlikely to find me rushing into town.

I understand the appeal of the sales – grab yourself a bargain or ten and then there’s no need to buy anything for a few months. But for me the horrendous crowds and unpleasant atmosphere are in no way mitigated by the savings I could make.

I just don’t understand why people want to put themselves through the torture of the modern retail scrum.

We’ve all heard the tales of people queuing up in the middle of the night to get first dibs on the heavily reduced clothes, equipment and nick nacks.

This year’s prize surely goes to pensioner Brenda Adams who set up camping chair outside a shop in Bath at 4.30pm on Christmas Eve. She waited until 9am on Wednesday to get the £10 set of drawers she wanted for her grandson.

She said: “By my stage of life you’ve seen every type of Christmas going: happy ones, sad ones, interesting ones and boring ones. I just wanted to do something different. I like to experience new things”

It sounds like she’s not alone. Apparently in Leeds one retailer installed concert venue style barriers to herd the desperate shoppers in and out of its store.

It’s all a bit humiliating if you ask me. Making shopping into a military operation isn’t something that’s fun or festive. What you should be doing is getting extra sleep or enjoying time with your loved ones.

I usually spending December 26 gorging myself on chocolate while watching back-to-back films or football. I might leave the house to go for a bike ride but going near any shops can wait until January.

But this year things have changed. Those halcyon shopping free days were during life as a singleton.

This year I’ve got a girlfriend and she’s got different ideas about Boxing Day activities.

Having tried to deter said girlfriend from venturing out to the shops I was eventually talked in to going to an out-of-town retail park.

“It won’t be that busy,” she assured me. “Everyone will have gone in to town.” After more failed attempts at scuppering the excursion I altered my strategy to one that most men will have adopted at some point this Christmas.

It’s called ‘going along with it for the sake of peace’.

Having steeled myself for battle, my new plan was to dip my toe in and see if I could swoop on a shirt or some jeans with that all enticing 50% reduction.

I knew it wouldn’t be easy but I’d got my lighter coat on as getting too hot just adds to the frustration and I crossed the DMZ into the warzone that is the Next sale.

Things started badly as just inside the doorway where sales assistants were hassling me to take a bag or sign up to online shopping.

Their shirts proclaimed: ‘Get it or regret it’. A fairly unpleasant message as far as I’m concerned.

I breezed past the enemy foot soldiers and made a beeline for the menswear. While I’ve seen busier shops, my worst fears were soon confirmed. It was cramped, it was hot, people were bumping into me, the rails were so full it was hard to find anything and then when you did it wasn’t in your size.

I was beginning to get frustrated and then I overheard a male sales assistant animatedly telling a customer how he’d been slightly scared when the hoards of bloodshot-eyed bargain hunters were unleashed into the store at 6am.

With that chilling tale ringing in my ears I knew I was out of my depth. I’ve not had sufficient training and knew I had to get out.

After about five more minutes of pretending to look at stuff I dived for cover, hoping my girlfriend would find it similarly frustrating and suggest a tactical retreat back to base and the comfort of the sofa.

Alas, she did not.

I was left outside in the cold with the other blokes pretending not to be bored by killing time on their phones. After a few minutes in the fresh air enjoying various parking mishaps, the guilt of abandoning my comrade began to nag. Also it was getting a bit cold.

“You’re a man,” I told myself. “Toughen up a bit and have another go.” So I slipped back inside the cauldron and made a more concerted effort at finding something I liked.

And what-do-you-know, I found a shirt reduced from £45 to £20.

“I’ll try that on,” I thought.

“Changing rooms are all closed,” said the girlfriend. “Oh, that’s it,” I said and I stormed out to go join the other blokes outside checking the football scores on their phones.

I’ll just have to wear these old jeans for a few more months ... or years.