On your marks . . .

Like a moth to a flame, yours truly found himself drawn to the Central Line and the inevitable visit to Europe's largest and possibly most monstrous high altar of retail therapy. I speak of Stratford City East where it's a case of 'come one come all' - and spend.

That was certainly the case today as I wove around gaggles of shouting teenage girls (note: if your gut is hanging over your trousers like a flabby spacehopper, maybe try a skirt?), slow moving Benidorm Madges, lads with camp Justin Beiber hairdos and the weary and puzzled (me). I'm hardly representative of the crowd Westfield are hoping to pull in but come on, who are half of these 'high street names'. Which 'high street' are they talking about? Bratislava?

She's lovin' it . . .

The food courts are interesting though. Sadly the most popular franchise seemed to be McDonalds (oh look, it's the lumpy teenage girls again) but there were some interesting looking Lebanese, Moroccan and Vietnamese places. Not that I went to any of them. There's always next time.

One of the best bits of the expedition was having the chance to view the Olympic Park from the comfort of John Lewis. Apparently it's the official Olympic shop of choice or something. Hurrah for that. And hurrah for the shop that managed to make me part with one hundred and forty quid on things I never knew I needed. I think they saw me coming . . .