No, I have not taken an interest in UFC too far (that's Ultimate Fighting Champion to all those who do not get the Bravo channel on TV).

Neither have I been beaten up in a girlie brawl but it was not far off ... I tried to get from the front door to the home ware section of the Next sale.

My first clue about what I was about to pit myself against should have been the abundance of men outside, splattered against the store window.

Weighted down by a rainbow of plastic bags with the word SALE emblazoned across, they were looking either pooped or peeved as they lit each other's cigarettes in an act of defeated comradeship.

As I stepped through the threshold, I took in the utter chaos and recoiled. I took a few seconds to survey the room.

The home ware section was situated in close proximity to the children's section: aka danger zone!

I took a few seconds too long, according to some mother on a mission who decided she was going to forcibly eject me from the doorway. The wheels of her pram scrambled from my foot to my knee, scraping my shin with the underneath basket as it travelled.

Can you believe that mother did not even back off then? Instead she stood stock still, giving me evil stares while her sprog gave me a couple of kicks for good measure.

I stepped back and delivered a swift kick, knocking the pram to the side before booting mama in the shin. It was at that moment that my decision to enter was made. That mother could have easily flattened me so I quickly flung myself into the frenzied throng.

Tripping over buggies and blokes' big feet I was belted this way and that by handbags and elbows. At one point I got shoved so severely that I crashed into a clothes rail so hard that if my boob had been a balloon it would have burst: instead it just hurt like hell.

Luckily I had a large handbag with me so I lifted it to my chest so that I could inconspicuously give it a rub. Today the bruise is so big that it looks like I have a runaway nipple.

A family behind me had the right idea. They had linked arms and with steely determination, the four of them strode purposefully towards their destination. It was like a wall coming at me.

If only I had been fortunate enough to have been behind them - instead I was used as a sort of ineffectual path beater.

I arrived slightly dazed in the home ware section. It was near naked. The previous shoppers that morning had swarmed in like a plague of locusts and sucked the place dry except for a few baubles and a headless angel. My journey was all for nought and I had yet to escape.

I resolved that I was bound to get beaten up on the way out as well, and if I was going down, I was going down fighting!

I stretched one arm out in front of me, the other hugged my bag close. I lowered my head like a battering ram. Then, in my best rugby attack, ran. Arrrgh.

I made it to freedom with only one more injury addition. I had crashed into an exceptionally large bloke thinking he would budge but instead I bounced off him, biting through my lip at the same time.

Next time I attempt shopping in this store I will be bringing a buggy of my own, even if my kids are too big to fit in it. I now know that they are not merely kiddie carriers, they are armoured chargers.

This whole sorry episode lasted fewer than five minutes but the effects are ongoing. I got off lightly though. On the way home I heard on the radio that four women had been carried out of a Next sale queue on stretchers.

What is it about sales that make otherwise rational women turn into psycho super shoppers? Do we really covet the clobber we bought on discount or do we add it to the pile at the bottom of our wardrobes where the other "it was a bargain" pieces lie?

I personally believe that the January sales are less about need of bargains but more of a traditional women's sport. This is revenge on all our men who have made us sit through their sports matches, bored off our trolleys and wondering what all the fuss is about.

Seeing those poor fellas flailing outside, I knew that this time the sports shoe was on the other foot.

Discount price, of course.