I shop...therefore I am?

Today, for the first time since 5 April, I walked further than the supermarket and the market stands - all the way to the main station, just to drop a card into a letterbox in front of the main post office and pick up some money.

On the way back, I noticed that an ice-cream parlour opposite the station was open, so I spontaneously decided to treat myself to some ice-cream (and help keep the place open, of course). I stood there in front of the dozen or so varieties and spent a pleasant moment deliberating what to get. In the end, I opted for cassis, coconut and lemon. Then I hung around the square in front of the station, in the sunshine, enjoying my purchase.

After that, I wandered into Press & Book, the large newsagent's in the main station and was in seventh heaven. Any time I get close to a shop with that many books, my eyes sort of glaze over and I enter into a sort of transcendental trance, almost as though I were being hypnotised by them.

I was directed to where there was a handful of books in French, finally selected two (this year's resolution is to read 2 books in French every month), and then picked up a German book that caught my eye (to add to the three bought there on 5 April) and queued up to pay.

Afterwards, I wandered into the drugstore and picked up some of my usual things there. And I suddenly realised, standing in front of the array of bath salts, how lovely it was to be able to pick and choose things.

I'm not fond of shopping - unless it's for books or food - but I really appreciate now (since this so-called 'lockdown') having choice: the choice to wander about wherever I please, the choice to buy this product or that or not, as the case may be.

Most of my German family happened to find themselves in East Germany when the Wall went up and I've seen the paroxysms of ecstasy my German great-aunt went into when she picked up a bag of oranges to take back home with her after she had attended my Opa's funeral in what was then West Berlin. They had very little choice over there. Most of the time, the choice was 'take it or leave it'. Often, if they saw people queuing up at a shop, they joined the queue even if they didn't know what the queue was for, but with things so scarce, buying anything was a victory for them. They were sure they could find a use for it, or exchange it for something they did want.

I also remember the thrill of having 10 pence to spend as a child at the sweet counter of the local post office in Wales. That was good practice in mental arithmetic: if I bought 2 rhubarb and custard sweets for a penny each, a blackjack and a flying saucer for a penny each, then I'd maybe still have enough for a sherbet dab. Actually just standing there, thinking up all possible combinations for 10 pence was pleasurable. Until you made your choice, the universe of your 9-year-old self contained unlimited possibilities.

And it's the same now when one goes into a shop. No matter how restricted your purse may be, there is usually a choice that can be made and every choice you make reveals something of yourself to others...and to yourself.