I am not one of nature's shoppers.

True, I tend to pop into town around once a week, but it's mostly to pick up some single essential item, do some banking, get something repaired or swing by a bakery.

I've had the same watch for fifteen years and the same mobile phone for five. I don't own an iPlod, Blackberry or any other similar hand-held gadget. I drive a 14-year old Ford and my TV is still a clanky old tube-job with a roughly square screen. I do confess a weakness for cheap second-hand books, CDs and DVDs in good condition (which makes me popular in the charity shops) and sometimes, I'll pop into Waterstones to see what's on offer, but that's about it.

It's particularly rare for me to voluntarily shop for clothing. I don't enjoy any aspect of the experience and I avoid it wherever possible. When I am forced into it, I tend to approach it as a kind of military excercise (get in quick, get what you need and get out fast) - much the same as most blokes I'm sure. The idea of clothes shopping for pleasure just isn't in my world and anyone within physical reach who dares to use the phrase "retail therapy" can expect to get thumped.

So when the only pair of boots I owned developed large cracks in both soles and were soaking up water to the point that I squelched when I walked, I reluctantly headed into town in order to find a replacement pair.

In these tighter economic times, I walked past all the brand-shops and headed straight to the nearest budget shoe shop and in true commando-style, I emerged 20 minutes later (and 20 quid lighter), with a new pair of boots. Result!

Or so I thought.

A week later, I had wet feet again!

And this got me thinking about the Sam Vimes theory of socioeconomic unfairness.

The reason the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money.

Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of OK for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought, and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where he was in the city on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles.

But the thing was that good boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that'd still be keeping his feet dry in ten years' time, while a poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time and would still have wet feet.

It was a useful reminder that even in the middle of a credit crunch, the trick is to shop smarter, not cheaper. What we should all be looking for is best value for money.

So the following week, I returned to town in a rather disgruntled mood, popped into Millets and parted with a larger amount of cash for a decent pair of Berghaus walking boots.

And my feet are dry and warm

In the last few weeks, life has been crazy busy, especially in relation to work; both the work I'm currently doing and the volume of work being offered to me. I recently pontificated about this to a degree, but since then I've received two offers of RedDot work, both based in London and paying a rate that makes me salivate even now.

And I turned them both down.

At first they both sounded great; the agents both waxed lyrical about how the respective contracts were only just over an hour's commute each way between Basingstoke and London, paying a superb hourly rate, offering 6-month contracts with strong possibility of renewal etc etc.

And then after putting down the phone, I started thinking about my current role. Only a 20-minute commute from home, paying less than the London roles to be sure, but still a competitive rate and offering a number of other features that the London roles couldn't match.

Chief among these features was was the chance to work at one of the most beautiful estates in this green and pleasant land. I've taken a number of photos throughout this year to try and capture some of this beauty. A handful of the better ones are available in the Photo Gallery if you fancy a look. They don't really do the place justice of course, but they are the best I seem to have managed.

When I talk to other staff, they all express the same appreciation and sometimes-sense of ambivalence; they often feel over-worked and stressed-out within their respective roles, but they all have an appreciation for the beautiful place they feel privileged to work at.

When the workload gets too much for me, I take a brief stroll around the estate (and I often see others doing the same). I admire the views, look and listen for the wildlife, breathe in the fresh, unfetid air and listen to the relative silence, absorbing it all like a sponge. 10 minutes later, I'm back at my desk feeling refreshed and ready to crack on.

No amount of cash can compensate for this uplifting feeling. And I reckon that even though the commute for the London jobs was only an hour each way, I suspect it would still get very old, very quickly and I'd find I'd traded a chunk of what little peace of mind I can still find, for what is tantamount to 30 extra pieces of silver.

Fuck that!

So I phoned both agents and said "no thanks" - and then took my camera and went for a stroll...

Now available: New photo gallery from our recent visit to the Living Rainforest, near Hampstead Norreys in Berkshire.

Enjoy.

I miss you