My first Black Friday email arrived on 1 November. The real Black Friday is 27 November. That is 26 days of “last chance” for something that is one day.

I am Greek, but I live in Glasgow for my degree now, and November here is a special kind of test. It is dark at 4 pm. The rain comes sideways. You walk down Buchanan Street with your hood up, and every window is shouting 50% off at you. Of course you go inside, because it is warm in there.

I think this is the trick. The shops know that in November we are cold and tired and a bit miserable, so they sell us a feeling. A new jacket will fix the weather, they say. It will not. I already have a jacket, and it also does not stop the rain.

Then there is the money part. Most people I know live on a student loan and a part-time job. My flatmate works Saturdays in a cafe, and last year he spent £60 on headphones he thought was a deal. “The sign said 40% off,” he said. Later he checked, and the normal price was £70. He saved ten pounds by spending sixty.

He is not the only one. The consumer group Which? has been saying for years that many Black Friday deals cost the same at other times of the year, or less. The “sale” is often a story, and the story is made to hurry you.

The hurry is the real problem for me. Bonfire Night is on Thursday, then Black Friday, then Christmas markets in George Square, then Hogmanay. Scotland has a lot of reasons to go out and spend, and the bank account does not have a lot of reasons to say yes.

I am not saying to never buy anything. I will probably need a proper winter coat, because I learned quickly that “waterproof” is a serious word in this country. Charity shops on Byres Road also have good coats, and nobody sends you an email about them.

So I made one rule. If I want something, it goes in my basket and stays there for 48 hours. If I still want it after two days, fine. Most things do not survive, and for me that is the answer.

The discounts will come back next year, and the year after. My money will not.