'What do you think of this?' asked the Bear, handing me one of the advertising booklets that get jammed into our letter box every week. It was an advert for a combined DVD and video recorder for 99euros. Too good to be true, was my first reaction and then my heart sank as I realised it would mean fiddling about with the scart connections and possibly buggering up the entire satellite reception again.

Closer examination of the pamphlet revealed that the source of the advert was a store with an extremely badly thought out method of selling to its customers.

Nevertheless, we set off to find a bargain but, due to Bear's lack of attention, ended up at the supermarket instead of the store in question. 'Oh well, we're here now so let's stock up on water and anything else we need.' he said.

Forty minutes later, with the boot already full with water, cat litter, binbags, washing powder etc. etc. we arrived at the intended destination. We had trouble finding the right department and then had to root out a saleslady and show her what we were looking for. She checked it out on the computer and said they were in stock. I asked her if it really did record DVDs and she assured me it did, so we started the painful process of buying it.

First she filled in information on her computer and printed off a bill. Then we queued up at the cash desk at the other end of the store to pay. After that we took the receipt to the 'warehouse department' and waited in line to proffer our piece of paper to the indifferent young lady behind the counter. She nonchantly stamped it, gave us the second copy and told us to go to the 'waiting area' where our goods would be brought.

The said waiting area is equipped with vending machines, tall round tables to lean on while you drink and a few plastic chairs. After a while the doors opened with a hiss and a chap wheeled a trolley through, laden with flatpacked parcels for a young woman. He went through the paperwork with her and then disappeared to the carpark for a good five minutes. When he returned he wandered around a bit and got himself a coffee.

The people in the waiting area were getting pretty fed up by now and one woman complained. After another wait, the door hissed open again and he brought out her stuff and ours on the same trolley. We signed and dated the paperwork and took the parcel BUT, wait - in large letters, in English it was marked DVD PLAYER and VIDEO RECORDER.

Back we went to the warehouse lady and explained the problem. At first she tried to make out that it was nothing to do with her. The advert said it records so it must do. The box must be wrong. Eventually she phoned the saleslady and it appeared that there's an error in the description. We had to go back to find her, leaving the appliance in the 'warehouse'.

It was a few minutes to twelve by now so we went back via the 'no entry' doors (we'd been in the waiting area long enough to notice how the staff pressed a button at the side to make them open) and tracked down the offending lady. She said she had been on holiday and so didn't know about the error and tried to persuade us to buy a real recording machine for three times the price but we insisted on a refund.

That required a long phonecall to 'the office' - thank heavens they hadn't all gone for lunch - more fiddling on the computer and another piece of paper to take to the cash desk. This time there was no queue but the cashier didn't look too pleased at being late for her break. She put my  card in a machine which spat out another scrap of paper and pointed out that it was clearly marked CREDIT. We wished each other a hypocritical 'Bon appetit' and Bear and I made for the car, empty handed.

'I'm never coming here again', he muttered. I just hope he remembers this experience the next time he thinks he's found a bargain.