Shopping at its worst

I’m no shopper but I agreed to take Nerea to the Trafford Centre the day before her  flight back to Spain.  I was traumatised in the vast, artificial wilderness.  The frenetic exchange of money, saved or borrowed, for material possessions essential for happiness, left an unpalatable taste in my mouth.  After fighting our way through unseeing crowds to buy the shoes we’d gone to purchase, Nerea and I were glad of a coffee respite.  The obvious need for instant gratification was palpable, the bustling, pseudo New Orleans Street, accurately mirroring the superficial facade of many aspects of our daily  lives