Yesterday was our annual trip to Meadowhall. I'm not a shopping mall type of a girl, but just once a year Maddie and I head off on the train, share a nice lunch (mushroom burrito - very delicious) and then we steal a march on the Christmas shopping frenzy. All went well. There were a lot of people - many more than I'm comfortable with, (which is about three at once) - we didn't get all we needed and they managed to continue playing the piped music all the way through the two minutes silence (for crying out loud!), but generally it was fine. Enjoyable even.
But here's the thing. Amongst all those shops, there isn't to my knowledge one selling even a smidgeon of wool. We didn't go into House of Fraser so maybe I'm making incorrect assumptions here, but there certainly isn't anything approaching an actual wool shop. Or even, I think, a general craft shop. What's that all about? Is the market just too fragmented for any single shop to be able to survive in a big shopping centre?
Well, of course, normally it wouldn't bother me. I'd sooner do the bulk of my shopping in craft fairs and little, local shops but yesterday, among the strappy, sparkly dresses, the leopard-print jim-jams and the over-sized pvc shopping bags, it would've been restorative and wonderful to be able to spend just a couple of minutes stroking something soft and full of potential.