I cannot shop anymore. The slightest hint of a queue sends me into spasms of panic. I put whatever I was going to buy down and leave as fast as my sweaty little feet will take me. Admittedly, this has saved me a considerable amount of money. But shopping used to be one of my favourite pastimes, close to sex and shoes and laying in bed doing absolutely nothing or perhaps idly fondling oneself before deciding to ave a cup of tea. This discovey of my inability to actually purchase an item is, in devastation terms, not too far away from, say, having my vagina sewn up.