So today we went out to a shopping mall, the Trafford Centre in Manchester, we were given some vouchers for a department store and we'd decided our elderly streamer that had been limping on by for months needed replacing.
Off we trundled, snaking the Volvo through the back streets that are a quicker alternative to taking the supposedly direct route on the motorway, where you normally queue to get off any off the 3 slip roads that link to the Trafford Centre, we parked up near the entrance to the store, and went into the store. The store was laid out with all the glamorous Autumn ranges of clothing, very tempting for the consumer, I was even quite taken with a jumper and shirt combo. A month or so ago, I would have picked it up and bought it, but with a deep breath moved upto the kitchen appliance department. The desired steamer was there, gleaming in all it's stainless steel finery next to equally gorgeous other appliances, as I stroked the delectable much desired Dualit four slice toast, I resisted temptation and we made our purchase. Feeling very virtuous we decided to have a wander through the mall and grab a refreshment.
The Trafford Centre is a very glamorous building, grand high ceilings with roman like statues around, water fountains, miles of marble floors and shining lights, large shop windows with designer clothes and 'must have' temptations at every step. We've been there plenty of times for a couple of hours of retail therapy and treat ourselves. What we entered definitely gave us cause for therapy, but not of the shopping variety!
The Mall was jammed, parents had bought their children out to scream and be told off in public, over weight families were chugging along in those electric disabled carts with decidedly rocky looking suspension and bowed wheels straining under the demands. Gangs of wannabe Wags were busy with their one up-man-ship conversations and caked in make up, under the impression it was making them attractive to the celebrity pop-idol like stars, when infact the only attention they were getting was from a gang of spotty track suited youths wearing their trousers around their knees and attempting to walk without looking like they'd had a toilet accident.
We looked at each other and the realisation that since we have embraced the 100 item challenge we've not really hung around the shops, unless we've needed something, which apart from food, we haven't done. It really isn't a pleasant experience. Previously we'd have mooched around, none the wiser, focusing on making ourselves happy ringing up sales and being burdened with large carriers. I suppose it's like an alcoholic working in a club watching people get wasted and acting stupid, it puts you on the outside. We've been spending quality time with friends and families and this hasn't been near the shops, now we're seeing it in a new light. Complete converts to the 100 Item Challenge and now against vapid consumerism.
Robert, my husband, who is mild mannered and cool headed all the time, was getting close to rage, when I say rage, it's more along the lines of rolling eyes and tutting, but this is rage for him. This happened after yet another lumbering fat woman in a top two sizes too small, just walked straight across him bumping into him and not saying a sorry, or even offering an apologetic glance.... there must have been a sale on at the tent shop, there was probably a two man tent that could she could wear as a nice evening dress!
We left shortly after that for the peace and tranquility of our loft apartment in central Manchester, that, even though there is the buzz of the bars, restaurants and the cackle of drunken laughter it's still home without heat seeking shoppers with their blinkered approach to life. Being a convert to the 100 Item Challenge has opened up our eyes and allowing us to stop shopping and see what is going on around us.
