Then we decided to bite a speeding bullet, and pay our inaugural visit to Westfield, Stratford. For those who don’t know, one of the biggest chains of mega-malls in the UK, is called Westfield (perversely, also the name of the town in New York State from which d came seven years ago). While we were in Wales at the sea shore, Westfield opened what is actually the biggest mall in Europe…riiiight here in Stratford, East London, where we live.
Now, the boys at CERN are all thrilled with themselves at the moment, over the idea that they probably haven’t, but conceivably might have, discovered faster-than-light particles. Well I’m here to tell you that right here in the east end, we have time-and-space-folding technology down pat – Westfield appears to have taken Christmas week on Oxford Street for the years 2005-2010, and shoved them onto five different levels of one building. It’s insane, and there’s shuffling room only for layer after layer, and what feels like mile after mile. I wouldn’t care, particularly, if it wasn’t all so anodyne and antiseptic, so ultimately dull a parade of the stores and restaurants available in Britain today. We stopped off for lunch in one of its cavalcade of restaurants, which was very pleasant overall, but probably shot the bejeesus out of my positive weigh-in(!). On the other hand, walking, or shuffling, around Westfield for a couple of hours probably burned off several calories I sheer frustration and monotony.
So…this is us, living right next door to Hell. Or at least to the ultimate temple of ass-suckery. Feel like I should shower to get the commerce off my skin, and get on the bike to burn up the rest of the lunch, but, if I’m honest, probably won’t do either.
Just Because…
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