No, not Christmas . . . International Buy Nothing Day. Yesterday marked the 24-hour period when we were supposed to turn off, ignore our materialistic urges and give our ears a break from the constant ringing of the till.

In terms of public participation, however, Buy Nothing Day has quite a way to go before catching up on Christmas. Yesterday, the Luas trams to Dundrum Town Centre in Dublin resembled Bombay trains, with passengers practically hanging out of the windows in order to be transported to Ireland's consumerist cathedral.

When the Luas pulled up at its destination, the race to the entrance was on, like a herd of Michael Stones trying to gain access to a shoppers' Stormont.

Of course, the good folk going shopping were so immaculately turned out that you'd wonder why they would need to buy anything anyway.

But this is Dundrum Town Centre, and not a whole lot makes sense.

You see, it's all about buying stuff. We love stuff. We love stuff so much that we buy stuff just to hang off the other stuff we've bought. The minute newer stuff gets released, we ditch our old stuff and buy the new stuff. Because if a friend called over to your house, he would notice if you didn't have the newest stuff, and that would just be embarrassing.

At 11am, Lucy McGovern, a 20-year-old student from Stillorgan, was embarking on a day of shopping. She didn't realise that it was Buy Nothing Day. Didn't really see the point, to be honest. She loves stuff.

"I've never heard of Buy Nothing Day", she said. "I come out here a lot at the weekends. I want to have a look around for clothes for Christmas."

At the high-end department store, House of Fraser, staff member Jane Coen was rushed off her feet. It wasn't so much Buy Nothing Day as Buy Everything Day.

"It's beginning to get very busy now, with Christmas only around the corner", she said.

"By 1pm, you won't be able to get a car park space anywhere . . . the cars will be backed up for miles."

Galway city made perhaps the best effort to mark Buy Nothing Day, with free anticonsumerist film screenings and a barter fair among the events organised.

But maybe the shoppers are right to keep on shopping.

After all, the entire economy rests on the hope that the general public will continue to ignore their bank balances and keep spending money faster than they are earning it.

Those sunglasses that are being sold in the middle of November for 100 aren't just a symbol of shameless consumerism, they are an economic policy document; the handbag that bears a pricetag of what was once a decentsized mortgage isn't just an over-priced piece of leather, it is a pillar of this State as important as any Wolfe Tone speech.

And so the Celtic Tiger warriors march on, trudging their way through row after row of designer jeans and high-heeled boots, placing themselves further in debt for the good of the nation. Away with you, Buy Nothing Day heretics, the future of Erin depends on us.

But outside the Dundrum Town Centre, amid the latte drinkers and croissant eaters, three men stand holding buckets, collecting for a homeless charity. It's amazing how quickly the Celtic Tiger warriors forget where their wallets are.