My friends and I are standing precisely seven storeys below the Bull Ring roundabout in central Birmingham. The hideous shopping centre has been demolished, and we are standing in its bowels, which seem like a dystopian concrete city, with the Sun a distant pinprick, high above us.
Apparently, there are plans to build a seven storey, tower-block shopping centre on the spot where we are standing, and then another shopping centre, in the shape of a blancmange-crossed-with-a-cowboy-hat, above ground on the same spot. I surmise that the new shopping centre will just be one big Gap, although why this should be a problem for me is a mystery, for some of my most cherished clothes came thence.
Suddenly, the shopping centre builds itself, in a rather dull shade of yellowy-cream. And Gap does feature predominately. One of my friends is thrilled by this.
We decamp en masse to a Waterstone's book shop. I spend my time looking at books that I must buy, but don't need.