Shopping in the City

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The London Shopping Centre

You're about to enter a Westfield's shopping centre. Perhaps you're trying to find a gift for your niece? Maybe you're looking for a new belt to stop you accidentally mooning old ladies? Are you attending a wedding next weekend, and needing to buy a gift and something sparkly to wear? Or are you thinking of replacing those tired-looking cushions? For all I know, you're looking to treat yourself to some sexy stockings... Look, I don't know your business, but either way, there you are, waiting for the automatic doors to open. Oh, you have to pull them open yourself. Idiot.

Anyway, you're finally inside. But don't stand still for too long though, otherwise you'll find yourself being thwacked with shopping bags, and shunted about by shoulders. Of course, you know what shop you want to go to, but where is it? There is over 150,000 square metres of shop, over three floors, at your toetips. It's at this point you consider going home and buying everything online for the rest of your life. But, hey, you're here now. You knew it wasn't going to be easy.

And so, you wander for what feels like hours. You've depleted your water supplies, you have blisters on your blister's blister, you're hopelessly lost and still haven't purchased a thing. This would have been so much easier if you had learnt the native language - whatever that is - so you could ask for directions. Yet you carry on walking, with the sense of constantly being watched, and fearful of someone spitting on you from an upper level.

"Eeeyouch!" you cry, quietly.

You've been hit on the back of the ankle. As a true Brit, you carry on and pretend it never happened.

"Argh!" you howl, slightly louder than before.

Hit again. This time you turn to see what is attacking you. It's a native, pushing their young in a red plastic car. Do you confront them, telling them to watch what they're doing? No. You shake your head slightly and step aside, and pull your sock down. Just as you expected: blood. Now you're wishing you went to the Doctor's first and got the necessary injections.

Ah, but look, there's that shop you've been looking for. You go in and ask the shop assistant if they have *insert desired item here*.

"Nah, we've sold out. You'll have to look online," says 'Jade' as she revolves gum around her mouth.

Now, where's the way out?

The London High Street

Many towns in London have a high street, for the great unwashed to buy bowls of produce, cheap clothes and eat McDonalds.

When walking through a high street, it is highly likely that you will encounter at least one man shouting about the brilliance of God. He will remind you that your life is full of sin, and that you should join him and repent your sins (but who has the time?). You'll recognise him when you see him; he'll be the one in the middle of the street, shouting as loud as he can with no-one within a 10 metre radius of him. Well, that man is either a religious nut or drunk.

Other people to watch out for in the London High Street are the clipboard carriers. Of course, they are found across the country, but in London they can be more concentrated into one area. They use a net approach, where they line up across the street, making it impossible to get past. So, chances are, they will break your gait. And, chances are, they are students trying to make some extra cash for themselves by trying to raise money and awareness for some charity; 'Batteries for Remotes', or something like that. I rarely even listen to them.

There are many obstacles to try and avoid when walking up the street. These can include old ladies pushing trolleys, people who have their gaze fixed firmly on their phone and gangs of school children who insist on walking in a line of attack the width of the path. It might be easier to attempt a pole-vault over them, or to just charge through like a bull. However, in practice you end up in the road, avoiding cars, cyclists, and lamp posts. Of course, it might have been easier to clear your throat and say 'excuse me', but that could actually lead into an interaction with another, and you never know which way it could go.

The high street, like many others, is filled with a rich variety of shops. Starbucks. Costa. Nero. Starbucks. Greggs. McDonalds. KFC. Poundland. Coasta. And a half stocked W H Smith. If they don't float your boat, then there is a generous selection of stalls selling everything from fruit and veg, hand-made jewellery, to badly-knitted hats, flowers and to more fruit and veg.