Online deals are no match for a charity shop bargain Like Matilda's aunt in Hilaire Belloc's Cautionary Tales for Children, I have a strict regard for truth. So while the dress had belonged to me for exactly 24 hours it was not, technically speaking, my old thing, as I'd bought it in the Blackheath Oxfam shop. It was somebody's old thing, though, and I love it almost as much for being pre-owned and costing £6.99 as I do for being elegant, versatile and the ideal frock in which to brave the daunting boho-chic vibe that prevails among the Sadler's Wells audience. It's worth keeping this stuff about retail euphoria in mind, because today is "Black Friday," the day on which Americans - and now Brits as well - traditionally start their annual Christmas shopping frenzy, and retailers up their game in equally frantic style. Asda promises "earth-shattering deals," with cut-price plasma tellies and tablet computers expected to sell out in a couple of hours. Meanwhile, the electrical specialist Maplin has slashed the price of steam mops. So if you want to get your mum a very special present that she'll remember for decades to come, you know where to go. Logic tells us that the smart way to avoid the unseemly scrum for a cut-price steam mop is to buy it online. Click click, and there you are, no anxiety, no disappointing empty shelf, no retail rage. But while my brain knows that online is the way to go (indeed, Amazon is celebrating Black Friday by increasing its product range and offering "lightning deals"), my heart tells me otherwise. Whether I'm buying for myself or shopping for Christmas presents, I can't seem to shake off the primitive hunter-gathering instinct that revels in leaving the house empty-handed, only to return some hours later with the 21st-century equivalent of a good day's hunting. I'm keenly aware that there is something quaintly retro about my reluctance to shop online. And there are good things - out-of-print books, for a start - that can only be sourced on the internet. So the other day I got a grip on my mouse, and ordered a hard-to-find cookery book as a birthday present for a friend. The ordering process was admirably efficient. But the book emerged from its cardboard wrappings too damaged by its journey to be given as a gift. The process of return was a bore, the disappointment intense. For the time being, I'm sticking with thrill of the high street chase.