I don’t believe Baudelaire wrote much about shopping. More’s the pity. But I bet his ennui and degout would have been in full flow if he’d spent this Saturday in Birmingham at the Bullring shopping mall (is that an adequate word to describe this temple to enlightenment through shopping? I fear not), queueing to get into a queue to get onto a escalator to join another queue to get into Selfridges to join a queue to part with his hard earned cash.
Think I might go a write a slim volume of exquisite yet degenerate verse.