I'm glad I know my greengrocer's name

EVERY Friday I have a ritual in my neighbourhood. It's the day I connect with the local shopkeepers and keep in their good graces. First I go to the Tunisian vegetable seller, then to the butcher across the street, an old man from Burgundy. Then I go to the tabac for my papers; the pressing for the dry cleaning and the librairie for any school supplies.

I've been living in my quartier for three years and as soon as I moved in, I knew it was important to get to know these people. They run the neighbourhood; they are the glue that keeps it together.

Which is why the opening of the Westfield mall depresses me: it's another blow to the charm of a London I once loved. Growing up in America taught me to loathe malls. France does not really have malls, certainly not in the middle of its cities. Paris does have something called galéries, such as the one in Palais Royal. But their tiny shops, which sell wooden music boxes or miniature soldiers, are worlds away from Gap, American Apparel and Starbucks.

In some ways French xenophobia has proved right when it comes to preserving their small businesses. Every quartier still has its own butcher and baker. But there are also local shoe shops, dressmakers, lingerie fitters and haberdasheries. My neighbourhood has clock makers, framers, piano restorers and wig makers as well. The same families have owned many of these for generations. It gives them, and the people who live nearby, a sense of continuity.

Also, Paris's strict regulations mean that a boulangerie must remain a boulangerie you cannot turn it into Gucci. Perhaps this was the downfall of Westbourne Grove, where the newsagent became a Joseph and the hairdresser is now Ralph Lauren.

Neither have I ever bought anything in Galeries Lafayette: I prefer the intimacy of a small shop and a minimal but perfect selection of stock. The same goes for buying tomatoes at my local fruit and vegetable stand or a winter coat from a tiny shop where they know my name. And I am not alone. Nearly everyone I know in Paris loathes the concept of a shopping mall.

Cities are meant for diversity and individuality. So in Paris, I can't get my hair done, go clothes shopping and see a film all under one roof. But at least I know the name of my greengrocer.