I’ve just had my first eBay experience.

As a seller that is; not as a buyer. No, I pushed the boat out on that one way back in 2005 when I bought a pedometer.

I was given feedback after the exchange of a heady £4.92 as: “One of the best buyers!! Thank you! Thank You! Thank You!”.

I slept well after that, knowing that someone in the ether had used five exclamation marks with reference to me.

For the first time last week I decided to sell; tops that no longer fitted me thanks to the eat-and-drink-what-you-want-on-Friday-night-and-Saturday-and-Sunday-but-pull-out-all-the-stops-before-weigh-in-on-Tuesday-night-then-buy-a-bottle-of-wine-on-the-way-home-diet. It’s worked quite well to be honest. One stone and 8lb-ish well so far.

So a week last Saturday I burrowed into my wardrobe; unwanted clothes were flipped over my shoulder and onto the bed faster than a dog digging up a favourite bone ….. Six hours later I was taking photographs. Cor blimey, my clothes had NO personality. Trying to get them to pose in an attractive, alluring ‘you-know-you-want-me-look’ was pointless. And as for descriptions … Embellished with beads? I’ll give you bloody beads; and geometric designs; and silky-feel and snug and warm; and thanks for looking; and selling because of weight-loss. Maybe a charity shop could have been easier, less selfish and I wouldn’t have needed a thesaurus.

But it would all be worth it. I’d have a little extra cash to buy something for my birthday (50th, I know I’ve told you … this Sunday in fact.)

I clicked a button; my things were uploaded and up for sale. Then I suddenly became the most boring person in the world for seven days (ok ok, some people who know me may extend that timeframe).

I watched; I counted-down; I prayed someone would want my things. I was slighted when two days, then three then four went past and no-one had put a bet on. Nooo. Said t’other half; it’s a bid. Well whatever it was, it wasn’t happening to me. Did I have terrible taste? I felt sorry for my unwanted things, even at only 99p starting price and £2.50 postage and packing. Even a silky-feel wasn’t enough verbal embellishment to encourage a bet.

But then it happened five days in and I HAD BETS. (nooooo…. said t’other half BIDS). I was £3 up. £3!!! This was great. What would I buy. Wow four hours later I had £6.72! The betting had gone into overdrive. “BIDDING,  BIDDING’ (exasperated t’other half exits right to kitchen for can of Murphy’s).

Talk about addicted … I watched the countdown to one item and in the last few seconds the sale went up by 50p. I was ecstatic. People were stumbling over themselves to pay an extra 50p in the dying moments of betting (*****B-I-D-D-I-N-G***** grrrrr) to buy something that was bead-embellished. So at the end of that I was up £30.34. Howzabout that then boys and girls.

But then panic set in. How do I post them. I haven’t got anything to post them in. And wrap them? I haven’t got bubble wrap or brown paper or bags or postage labels.  The latter seemed easy to sort out. There was a link on eBay to click through to print postage labels and … yup, I’ll click on this Royal Mail link… what size parcel… this? OK. ooops I didn’t mean to REALLY press. Shit. I’ve just paid £4.41 for postage on something that should have been £2.75. I won’t do that again. At least I’m still about £26 up. I’ll be able to treat myself.

I’d better go to the post office and buy some of those plastic postage bags. Oh. No postage bags, I’ll get these little Jiffy bags. Yes, quite a few. Of course things will fit in them. That’s £7 please Madam …. OK. here you are … right, no prob, I’m still about £20 up and the postage will work out a little bit cheaper  than I quoted people. So I’m still on target for a little birthday treat.

Nope …the Jiffy bags are useless. I’ll have to buy some of those little plastic postage bags after all. (Next day, lunchtime: There you are madam. And bubble wrap too? That’s £10.15 madam. Thank-you).

Well, stay positive. You can get a nice bottle of wine for a tenner.

So, at last. This afternoon,  in the pouring rain,  I threw the car in the closest parking space to the post office and  posted all my items. I was happy. Tickety-boo. I’d learnt a few lessons, but I’d still made a little money, despite being bloody hopeless. I’ll go and buy that wine next. Perhaps I might stretch to some sparklie?

I ran through the deluge and back to the car, jumping in faster than a German in a hotel reception queue. What’s this? What’s this on my windscreen? I’ve only been gone 10 minutes.

Bloody hell. A parking ticket.

Yes madam. That’s £35 please.