A quick glance around my room, and I realise that yes, we are still stuck in the murky depths of January; the empty wine bottles and pristine, unworn trainers evidence of resolutions unkept, a teetering pile of books shoved in a corner, unread, and a pile of unworn clothes that can only be described as “heinous errors”.

A self-confessed sales addict, I was one of the sad and desperate wandering down Oxford Street, elbowing the old and infirm out of my path, snatching dresses from weedy teenage arms, barging through the sweaty throngs of fellow bargain hunters. Yes, I am ashamed, although fortunately did not lower myself to the standards of the Next sale – yes someone did queue from 5am to nab that sumptuous pleather jacket. The trouble is, having exhausted my sales tolerance before January even started, the rack after rack of unwanted tat that the shops are still wheeling out just doesn’t hold the same allure. So, in aid of the bargain-hungry student (and to abstain from the library for as long as possible), I embarked on a quest to see if the January sales still had anything to offer, after a month of retail mania.

I was one of the sad and desperate wandering around Oxford Street, elbowing old and infirm

On a whim, I thought I would make Monsoon my first stop, normally a shining beacon of middle-aged style. After being greeted by a veritable jungle of pastel chiffon and sequinned tunics, I made a swift exit. Buy anything and expect small children to mistake you for their mother in the street. From there I dashed into Office, which was pretty much what would happen if the shoe world hosted a freak show. Some of the leftovers look like someone vomited a packet of crayons onto an irregularly shaped canoe. Peeking from behind these monstrosities were some covetable platforms, as well as grey boots laced to the thigh for that rather appealing sleaze-factor.

New Look is a stop on the sale trail only for the brave. As a shameless promoter of its amazing silk mini-dresses, I found that the Cambridge branch now consists of velour “leisure wear” bathed in seedy lighting. My advice here is to make a beeline for the shoes, and get out. Avoiding Warehouse like the plague (the proverbial armpit of the high street), Miss Selfridge was definitely still worth a look. I was a big fan of the over-sized wool berets, black smock top with lace inserts, and a leopard print brocade jacket. Across the street in Topshop, the window screamed “New Lines Added!” and the fare was decidedly better than the usual “Buy One Get One Free” horrors. There you’ll find structured jackets, tulip skirts and tunic dresses, and some leggings that made my shopping companion resemble David Bowie in Labyrinth, but in a good way. Alas, nothing in Gap was quite so exciting, unless your wardrobe suffers from a severe drought of “basics” (the very idea of something that dull being essential to your wardrobe is an insult).

But before I was about to stomp off, I spied some acid coloured tunics (blatantly left over from summer) for only £10, and slouchy cardigans that would offset mannish tailoring rather nicely. After a pretty paltry day of purchasing, it was French Connection that offered salvation from the dubiously stained pit of high-street doom on show today. What was once over-priced is now distinctly affordable and desirable, with lots of beautiful prints on the dresses, well-crafted sequinned items, and satin in delectable shades. Even that sequin-striped shift seen in magazines the world over could be yours for a meagre £60.