It's not easy, but it's possible to go without food for a day in aid of charity, or to resist temptation and cut out cigarettes on National No Smoking Day.

But could you go for 24 hours without shopping? And by shopping, I don't mean a huge spending spree, but simply buying something - anything - from a shop.

Sounds a doddle. Then why not have a go - on Saturday. November 28 is the country's first official Buy Nothing Day. Launched eight years ago in America, it was introduced to draw attention to the problems caused by endless possession-seeking.

Apparently, shopping is making people depressed - they spend, spend, spend, but cannot satisfy their appetites for goods and fall prey to so-called "affluenza."

Alarmingly, I'm showing early signs of this disease. I'll pop to Tesco for milk and bread, and emerge 30 minutes later with a full-to-bursting trolley. But, apparently, that's not unusual. It's when out-of-control spending goes beyond the grocery stage that you need to worry - if you're the sort of person who goes to Comet for a three-pin plug and emerges with a kettle, toaster, twin-tub and dishwasher. Then you go back the next day for a CD player.

We may laugh as we label each other shopaholics, we may wear T-shirts emblazoned with the words Born to Shop, but it's no joke. As a nation, we are obsessed with shopping. Almost 40 per cent of women prefer it to sex, although to me that's understandable. You don't have to take your clothes off to dash round Tesco and you can get cash back at the end.

Seriously, though, many people need to shop to stay happy. Clothes, shoes, household goods - we get a buzz when we lug home those boxes. It's the run-up to Christmas, and many will ignore Buy Nothing Day and breeze to the cash point for a bit of retail therapy.

But I'm going to give it a go, I really am. Harvey Nics is going to have to do without my much-coveted custom for one Saturday in the year.

Can I do it? Can I go 24 hours and spend absolutely nothing? I'd like to think so, although there's bound to be an emergency at home - all the light bulbs will blow at once, we'll run out of cat food, or nappies. Something is certain to happen which necessitates spending.

And if we go out as we normally do on a weekend - usually to a free attraction - how can I turn down my daughter's request for an ice cream? What if I want a cup of tea, or I'm desperate to visit the loo?

I could probably do it if I lived in the Australian outback, but with my luck the local trading post would have a One-Day Only/Everything Must Go/Last Chance Ever/Rock Bottom Prices sale.

I could certainly do it on an inflatable in the mid-Atlantic - although I'd be bound to get picked up by Cunard's poshest liner packed with more shops than Meadowhall.

It's no good, I'll just have to stay at home and read the Argos catalogue ready for some serious spending on Sunday.

l Tracey Nolan packed her three kids into a taxi and sent them to the British Embassy in Turkey with a note to put them on a flight home to Hull - because she wanted to be alone with the lover she met on holiday.

I often feel like abandoning my children - usually when we're in Sainsbury's and one is screaming blue murder while the other is sweeping the entire contents of the sweet rack into my trolley. But I'd never do it.

If Tracey's holiday romance goes the way of most, she will soon find herself abandoned - and, unlike the kids, who are happy with relatives, she won't find many shoulders to cry on.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.