This being the Christmas buying season, I have a buying story to share that offers a number of lessons.

For some time, I have had a bad case of the Eames chairs. Charles and his wife Ray Eames were a legendary American design team. In 1956, they introduced one of their best-known products: the Eames lounge chair, a beautifully-constructed recliner with a matching footstool. If you watch TV, you may have seen Frasier's Eames chair, next to the piano, or perhaps Ted Danson's chair in Bored to Death. "The comfy Eames chair" featured on a musical list of "The Things I Miss the Most", a Steely Dan track.

I became somewhat fixated on the comfy Eames chair and went online to see how two might be purchased for my London pad. The good news is that the chairs are still made; such is the durability of the design. The bad news is that they cost about $7,500 each. Yup. I had fallen in love with $15,000 worth of furniture.

It would normally go without saying that I wouldn't buy the chairs. Fifteen grand might keep a man going for quite some time, even if he were standing throughout that time. Rather than admit defeat, I ran the idea of the chairs and their absurd cost past a few friends. All advised against the purchase, except one, to my surprise. From this highly-qualified financial person came the message: "Buy the chairs. It's something you'll always treasure, plus every time you look at them you'll know you made yourself happy."

Earning the fifteen grand made me happy; keeping it makes me happier still. I never was going to buy the chairs. But pirated versions began to present themselves. They might not be actual Eames chairs, but only I would know. They ran close to $1,700 each, despite being fakes.

For a while, the chairs became a concept, more than a potential purchase. And then came the day when I could no longer think about chairs, but had to act. I took off for London's West End, to visit a shop that had an Eames chair in it, and another that sold the phonies.

At the first store, Heal's, I sat in the $7,500 chair. It was comfy alright. Ten weeks were needed before I could have the chairs, although the 15 grand had to be spent then and there. If I waited until the New Year, the VAT would increase and the price would go up another 150 bucks apiece.

Walking to the fakes shop, I concluded that I would hate myself if I bought the real chairs. Fifteen grand: it takes two or three days to save that much.

Plus, and here you might want to send the kiddies out of the room because of the bathos, I realised that I'd never be a 15-grand-for-two-chairs person. I already knew that, so it wasn't a huge let-down.

The fakes shop had gone out of business in the recession, apparently. I walked all over town and couldn't find it.

Instead, I dropped into the shop where my mother bought all her household goods all her life, John Lewis, and bought a couple of leather recliners with all the functionality of the Eames, such as rotating comfort, and more: adjustability in several dimensions. Design-wise, they're just chairs. They'll be delivered in a week. I can't wait.

I hesitate to tell you what even these less inspiring babies cost.

It was a lot less than $15,000, but should be enough to drag the global economy out of recession anyway. Obama will take the credit. I hope to never have to buy chairs again, and not just because my life expectancy is 20 minutes. I dislike shopping. The more expensive the item, the more I dislike it. After months of research and road-testing, how often do you find that you can't have the one you want, and settle instead for the nearest one? It's the same with women, by the way.

* * *

An e-mail arrived from a doctor.

"I was flabbergasted to read that most Bermudians can't save money," the reader wrote. I had said as much, generalising, in an earlier column. "You have the highest per capita income in the world, no income tax and most people ride motor bikes, risking life and limb, like in the Third World. What the hell is going on?

"I think I know," the reader continued. "Bermudians enjoy the finer things of life too much. I'm a Canadian, or a 'TAC' as you Onions call us.

Our country was founded by Hudson Bay Scottish accountants and we've never recovered. During the sub-prime/bank failure/bailout/Icelandic meltdown/Celtic Tiger collapse, who survived and even prospered? Canadian banks! Try to get a loan from a Canadian bank and you'll see why.

"I've lived in Bermuda on and off throughout my life but I've remained a TAC to the bone.

"'Doc,' the Bermudian nurses would ask, 'how do you Canadians spend your vacations?'

" 'As cheaply as possible,' I'd reply. 'In a tent and/or a canoe'. And yourself?' I would ask.

" 'I don't really mind, Doc, as long as it's first class all the way.'

"Roger, have your readers get in touch with their inner TAC once per week. Have them visualise Revenue Canada taking 40 percent-plus of their income earned that day, including investment returns on their hard-earned savings. Take that money and put it in a 'lockbox', as Al Gore used to say.

Have them cut back on the shopping trips to the US by an equivalent amount.

"It is really impossible to save any money in Canada. Financially, the happiest expats in the world are Canucks living in Bermuda. I know; I was one."

The reader closes by suggesting: "Have a 'Hug a TAC' day" once a month, despite resenting us. It'll partially rub off."