I DID, I DID, I DID.
I did suppress my common sense and outbid all opposition to finally acquire the Evening Outs single. As the final minutes approached the girlfriend retired to bed wishing me luck as she went, knowing that there are some moments in life when a man must be alone. I was left to fend for myself like a baby crocodile among a pool of hippos. The omens had been good. In the afternoon I had beat my parents at scrabble and I'd resisted playing my Desperate Bicycles collection for fear of an attack of light-headedness. Friend Harvey had emailed and told me he would bid no higher than £121. That, my friend, I thought, is amateur financial fencing, my riposte shall smite you. As the final seconds fled by I did not falter. I flexed my fingers, they were nimble and deadly after an afternoon of sparring with neighbourhood cats, and punched in a reckless sum of £544. Take that you downbeats, you don't mess with the Scavenger. But they tried and they failed and they had their passports stamped as they returned back to Loserland. Dizzy with triumph I ventured into the bedroom where the girlfriend was pricing up objects for the boot sale. " £377", I said. She looked at me despairingly and added another zero onto the bed's price tag.