Around a year ago I ordered a lovely telescopic ladder from the awkwardly named “Coopers of Stortford” catalog pictured with the senile neardead on the cover, thanks to a heads up from my “we actually read whatever is pushed through our door” parents. The ladder cost me £65, much fun has been had tottering about precariously and slamming my fingers in it.
Since then, in Coopers apparent attempt to make me buy even more crap to cram into my house, I have had around one catalog through my door every month. Coopers is like a gambler trying another roulette spin, because “13” is due now, and remember the high we got last time it landed? I am not entirely sure how much these cost to print and distribute, but it must be at least £1, so eventually they will have wiped out any profit they made from the ladder. Perhaps they own the printing company too.
If they ever stop sending me my little packets of attention, I will be sure to order something else, like that woman who isn’t interested in you except when you start ignoring her.