Westfield

Posted by Lara Masters at 10:39 on 13 Nov 2008

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I happened to need a few essentials (red glitter nails, a new pink cashbox to replace the one that cracked under the weight of the £20 we made on the Kiss My Cherry stall at Halloween) so I had the perfect excuse to go with my PA and follow the herd to the newly unveiled, traffic-stopping Westfield shopping centre.

Arriving in the car park, we were invited to take a scratch card. Nice touch, I thought, giving away goodies in this credit crunch climate and eagerly scratched away to reveal my no doubt designer welcome gift. However, it turned out not to be a scratch card at all but a reminder of the co-ordinates of where we were parked in the 4,500 space car park. Yes, you need co-ordinates for your trip to Westfield. And snacks. And sensible shoes.

All the lifts in Westfield are manned; customers cannot be trusted to operate the four buttons unsupervised. Once inside the cavernous mall we were handed a map - a grid full of more co-ordinates. Orienteering was never my strong point but looking at the labyrinth of numbers, letters and squares I felt a compass and a piece of string would have been more useful and a hot flask absolutely essential. The centre is so overwhelmingly vast that there are touch sensitive screens everywhere so you can type in the store you want to visit and it calculates your route for you like sat nav. And sends it to your mobile. OMG.

But even with the plethora of grids, GPS plus string, finding Claire's Accessories was such a mission, we had to stop three times for replenishments (sushi, liquorish twirls, dried mango) and a loo break. I was so over shopping by the time I got there I almost didn't have the energy to accessorise. I know. How often do you hear a girl saying that? I just managed to grab some sparkling ruby nails in my lethargy but that was it.

The entire traumatic experience took three hours, the last half-hour of which was spent wandering around the co-ordinate ridden car park with marshals and people on skates laughing at us. We thought it was a scratch card okay? I shall never stray from Brent Cross again.

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