Shopping is <i>so</i> last century

Isn't it amazing when something you knew to be true - but thought you were alone in thinking - turns out to be quantifiable fact? As a fully embedded member of the fashion press corps I've spent a lot of time feeling like the odd one out over - ooh - the past few years. I'd almost begun to believe it's because I'm a natural curmudgeon that I cannot throw myself into girly ecstasies over the thrills of the great British "shopping experience".

I don't think that shopping in the much-vaunted British high street - in all its predictable mundanity - is unadulteratedly fabulous. The attitude of many of London's so-called exclusive department stores and boutiques annoys the hell out of me. And faced with the supposed pleasuredomes of Lakeside shopping centre (or, then again, Harrods) I feel an almost violent need to put my head down and run.

For some time, I had half-believed I was maybe delusional, or perhaps just unlucky in this. Perhaps it is my fault, personally, that 70 per cent of shop assistants unfortunate enough to run into me are clueless about what they're selling, or downright rude. And at a frankly vastly obese size 14, perhaps it really is asking too much to find a pair of trousers that fit well. In England.

But no. I am a cross-shopper with experience. I shop in New York, Italy and France. In London, as a mother of three children, I shop high and low - Primark to Prada - as a civilian, not a fashion editor (I think it's wrong to pull rank). And what I see is this: there is no guarantee that the greeting you get on Bond Street will be in any way more pleasant or efficient than the one you would expect in Shepherd's Bush shopping centre.

What we are putting up with in the way of shop service in this country - our supposedly brilliant "service economy" - is actually middling to dismal. British retailing in general has an extraordinarily smug and complacent disregard for its customers. In America, even though we're quick to ridicule its "have a nice day" culture, shopping works. There are no-questions-asked returns policies. People who will order things in for you without delay. Stores that believe in making you feel special - even if you're spending nothing.

Don't misunderstand: you can be someone who enjoys fashion, like me, and still find shopping in Britain a frustrating, dispiriting palaver. I want to like shopping; I'm willing to spend lots of money. But, over the past few years, a peculiar disjunction has grown up between the exciting, tantalising copy you read in magazines about luxurious things to buy (how about that pair of tan Manolo Blahnik sandals in the current Vogue?) and the actual near-impossibility of getting your hands on them (they sold out, months ago; I am silly to be asking for sandals in July as the shop only has the new autumn/winter collection). Fashion pages in Britain often do an excellent job of getting you going, but once you're out there, you're on your own.

In this country, you need almost professional skills to get what you want - all the nonsense of knowing someone in the store, getting on the waiting list, knowing when deliveries are coming in. I don't know about you, but that seems more like work than pleasure. Pleading with a snooty shop-girl for the privilege of spending £300 on something she doesn't want to "release" seems like getting it the wrong way round, somehow. Shouldn't they be pleading with us?

Luxury goods sales have taken a nose-dive during the past couple of years, a fact business people are quick to blame on the effects of 9/11, plunging stock markets, Sars and whatever dread-factor is nearest to hand. But, in fact, it seems to me that depression in the economy has only worsened the atmosphere in stores. More often than not, sales people in fancy stores can't even put a smile on their faces when you - the rare potential customer - walk in.

At Gucci, for instance, they prefer to talk among themselves and give you that "You're too fat" look - if they ever notice you're there at all, that is. Perhaps they're suffering from pay cuts; I don't know. Definitely, no one appears to be enjoying their shop-jobs these days. And so why should I think shopping is fun?

During the Nineties, the cult of shopping became a national pastime, replacing all sorts of activities such as going to museums, churches, going on picnics - having a life. Or so we read. Now, that all seems pretty dated to me. It's high time for a reality check.

So how refreshing to read that it's a documented, researched fact that half of all British women dislike shopping. And wait for the news: it's not just the frumpy, aged and outsize who've voiced their disgruntlement. It's the young, too, who are over it. Add their disengagement to the silent fury of the middle-aged - sold out and underestimated in their millions by M&S - and I would say we have an interesting backlash on our hands.

For years, my fashion colleagues and I have been obediently turning out acres of copy blithely detailing the lovely things that are in store for you right now. But as you know - we all know, if we've tried - they usually aren't. If they are, they probably won't fit. Assuming, of course, you can find someone to help you.

So, mea culpa. This worm has turned. From now on, it is my considered recommendation that we should either shop less, or complain more. Or just for good measure, let's do both.