Bernard O'Shea: Five of the best things I bought in the middle aisle

And the all-consuming question: Why do I keep buying this stuff?

Bernard O'Shea, comedian.

Every time I step into Lidl or Aldi, I promise myself, ‘Bernard, just milk and bread: That’s it.’

But like Odysseus lured by the sirens, I hear the faint whispers of a reduced-price air fryer calling me from the middle aisle.

Before I know it, I’m standing at the checkout with a chainsaw sharpener, a wetsuit, and a Himalayan salt lamp that will allegedly realign my chakras.

The middle aisle is a modern temple to impulse shopping. Originally, Aldi and Lidl designed this space as a battleground for budget-conscious consumers looking for random bargains. But what started as a space for discount garden shears and surplus ski equipment has evolved in to a phenomenon.

The Germans call it Aldi’s ‘Aktionsartikel’, which roughly translates to ‘things you didn’t know you needed, but now can’t live without’.

Middle-aisle shopping is not just a retail quirk: It’s a cultural event for me. I don’t go to these supermarkets despite the middle aisle; I go because of it. I want to be surprised. I want to feel the thrill of discovering a popcorn machine on a Tuesday morning.

There’s an actual psychological reason why we can’t resist these items. Studies show that impulse buys are linked to dopamine release — the feel-good neurotransmitter that lights up when we eat chocolate or get a social-media like.

The unpredictability of the middle aisle turns shopping in to a game: Will today be the day I find an ergonomic office chair for half price? The anticipation is addictive.

Then there’s loss aversion — the fear that if we don’t buy the 37-piece socket wrench set now, we will deeply regret it when our car falls apart at the side of the road (even though we haven’t used a wrench since Leaving Cert woodwork).

Some researchers argue that hoarding tendencies come in to play, too. Deep down, we fear running out of things —especially bizarrely specific items that might one day be crucial. Will I ever need a portable urinal? No. But what if? WHAT IF?

If you, like me, suffer from chronic middle-aisleitis, here’s a strategy to stay in control. Set a budget before stepping inside and deciding on a middle-aisle allowance. If you only have €20, you might rethink that mechanical bull for the garden.

Follow the 48-hour rule: If you see an item you’re unsure about, give yourself two days, and if you’re still thinking about it, go back (though this won’t work in Aldi or Lidl, because the stock disappears faster than a cold pint on a sunny day, it’s a nice idea).

Adopt the one-in, one-out approach—if you buy a foot massager shaped like a panda, you must eliminate something of equal size and uselessness.

Finally, ask yourself, ‘Will future me be proud?’

If, in five years, you imagine your spouse shaking their head while lifting a brand-new, but utterly useless drum kit from the attic, maybe walk away.

The best five things I’ve bought in the middle aisle

• Cast-iron pot — Just as good as the fancy brands, and I’m pretty sure they were probably made in the same place. This pot has been a kitchen workhorse, heavy enough to double as a home defence, if needed. Soups, stews, and the occasional loaf of homemade bread —this thing does it all.
• Waterproof trouser coverings —These have kept my legs dry on my walks, and I never would have gone to an outdoor shop to buy them. I didn’t even know I needed them until they appeared before me in the middle aisle, like divine intervention from a particularly practical deity.
  
• An ash hoover (our second one) is one of those things that makes you think, ‘Oh yes, this is exactly what I need.’ No more dustpan and brush for me. I don’t know what it is about fire ash that makes it impossible to clean properly, but this little device has changed my life.
  
• Glue. Lots of glue — I’ve bought glue for every conceivable job known to humankind. Wood glue, super glue, glue sticks, industrial-strength adhesive — I could probably fix the Titanic at this stage.
  
• A lump hammer — Nothing fancy, just precisely what it said in the description. There’s something deeply satisfying about owning a lump hammer. It’s a tool that says, ‘I’m here to solve problems, one mighty whack at a time.’

At the end of the day, the middle aisle is where logic dies, and joy is reborn. Do I regret buying a solar-powered garden owl that hoots on the hour? Absolutely not.

Will I ever use my ‘emergency survival fishing kit?’ Unlikely. But when I look at my collection of baffling yet beautiful purchases, I feel a strange sense of pride — or maybe that’s indigestion; it’s hard to tell sometimes.