As lockdown eases, I can’t wait to do some ‘proper’ shopping

I am so bored now that all I really want to do is mooch around Covent Garden, writes Jenny Eclair

I will admit to missing the physical act of going shopping (Getty/iStock)

It’s been a few weeks since I actually stepped foot inside a shop. After months of scrapping with non-mask wearers and “Covidiots” in my local supermarket, I finally did what I should have done almost a year ago and sorted myself out with click & collect.

I have a feeling the supermarket staff are as grateful as I am at this change of events. Most of them will be massively relieved that I’m no longer darkening their doors and making a nuisance of myself by hounding and hectoring anyone flouting the face-covering rules.

And before anyone starts banging on about “the medically exempt”; yes, I did always ask – politely – before descending into a full tirade. I think the worst experience was when an enquiry about why someone wasn’t wearing a mask met with a torrent of verbal abuse, including the command to “go suck my mum”. This was the triggering incident that drove me into the arms of click & collect – and I’ve never looked back.

This new grocery shopping system is totally working for me. I no longer come home feeling weepy from ugly confrontations – I’m also saving money. Click & collect has made me really think about my weekly shopping, too. These days, I’m planning meals in advance and buying only what is necessary, rather than grabbing whatever takes my fancy.

That said, as the shutdown of non-essential shops continues to drag on, I will admit to missing the physical act of “going shopping”. It’s not so much the fruit and veg aisles that I feel any nostalgia for (although I do like a nice display of plump, shiny aubergines), it’s the knick-knack shops; the clothes-and-make-up emporiums that I really miss. These days, when I can’t sleep; I fantasise about browsing around my favourite non-food shops: hello, Liberty!

The instinct to “go shopping” is pretty ingrained into most of us – particularly women of my generation, who spent much of our pre-school play time pretending to visit the shops with our siblings or dolls. I doubt there are many sixtysomething women who didn’t, at some point in their childhood, play with a pretend cash register. I remember feeling very grown-up, filling my wicker baskets with “goods” and paying for them with plastic money from an old clip purse of my mums.

“Playing shops” was on a par with playing schools and doctors. It was what we did before daytime TV had been invented. This is when we learnt to try on different voices and let our imaginations run away with themselves. By the age of four, I was already the world’s bossiest teacher; a very posh lady who ordered fancy buttons in a ridiculous voice; and was nurturing the beginnings of a lifelong hypochondria habit in my own make-believe hospital.

I don’t know if children are still playing these games, as I don’t have any smalls in my life; but it would be a sad scenario if the world of “shops” had been replaced by a world of imaginary online retail therapy.

While we wait for jabs – and a gradual and cautious reopening of the high street – I realise how much I am looking forward to getting on a bus (something I haven’t done since March 2020) with my unused “over-60s” travel pass, and crossing Waterloo Bridge into the West End.

Despite the excitement of the encroaching new season (hello, daffodils!), I am so bored now of green spaces that all I really want to do is mooch around Covent Garden.

I want to sit somewhere (preferably indoors) with a coffee and a sandwich and then shop like the olden days. This doesn’t necessarily mean spending money, it means sticking my nose into places I can’t really afford; and picking up madly expensive handbags. It means walking around with multicoloured smears of lipsticks and blushers on the back of my hand – and maybe even trying something on.

Of course, after a year of changing rooms being strictly out of bounds, the reality of “trying something on” outside the confines of our own homes might come as a bit of a shock to many of us.

As we all know, most decent clothes shops have multi-mirrored dressing rooms, which are fiendishly designed to give you a 360-degree view of your possible purchase – once you’ve managed to get the thing on.

With many of us having spent a year letting ourselves go, the easing of Covid shopping restrictions might bring a rude awakening. Because once we’re allowed to “try before we buy” again, I reckon changing rooms up and down the country are going to have to be kitted out with boxes of industrial strength tissues – there’s going to be some tears!

I can picture it now: joining thousands of people, all of us sobbing over a pair of jeans that won’t go over our hips. I can even hear the wailing: “I didn’t know it was going to be this bad – I’ve never had back fat before! Take the nasty mirrors away!” And you know what? I can’t wait.