13. Meadowhall

... being a rant about Shopping centres, precincts and malls. In fact, shopping as leisure in general and Meadowhall in particular

I live about 15 minutes drive from the perfect venue for the January Sales. The Meadowhall Shopping Centre. With the large glass dome atop its expansive, intricate structure it does indeed look like a fantastic hall, a magnificent relic of some bygone age, perhaps conceived by the same architect who was responsible for the Crystal Palace which housed the Great Exhibition of 1851.

A Victorian Meadowhall could well have been the stately home of some wealthy family who had recently increased their fortunes by exploiting the opportunities offered by empire and industrialisation. In those days, it would have been surrounded by the pleasant meadows from which it got its name and common folk from the local area would have only been able to marvel at its splendour from a considerable distance away.

In reality Meadowhall is not a Victorian building. It was built in the early 1990s on the site of what was once a large steelworks, part of Britain’s transition from an industrial nation to one of leisure and services. It was its proximity to the motorway and the transport interchange rather than a picturesque meadowland setting which attracted investors, and since it opened, it has doubtlessly caused a sharp decline in independent retailers in Rotherham and Sheffield, and indeed Mexborough. But who cares? It has all the shops that you would find in town centres the length and breadth of the country, along with the advantage of never having to be exposed to the weather as you move from place to place. Not to mention the presence of numerous fashionable venues to enjoy food and drink, and a multiplex cinema showing all the latest movies. (or films, as I prefer to call them)

Some people call it Meadowhell, but there are probably many more who regularly flock to it, in fact many people both use it regularly and call it Meadowhell in an ironic but humorous manner. I have to confess that I occasionally go there myself, even though the place disturbs me.

One time, I was asked how long it took me to compose my poem about Meadowhall. I think I replied “about twenty minutes” and then instantly regretted it, because I thought that it sounded boastful. I don’t normally compose anything so rapidly, some stuff takes me months. Really. The fact is, that on this occasion I did write it very quickly. It was one of those pieces that flow out of your mind and onto the page because of some sense of indignant anger.

I have thought about this. I think that a lot of poetry demands lengthy and careful planning, because it is necessary to consider your thoughts on the subject matter for some time and then sketch the narrative out in your mind. If the subject matter is something that you have already spent some time thinking about - not necessarily with the aim of creating a poem, then a lot of the thought that you have given it will be waiting to bubble up from your subconscious - or even your consciousness. Then, especially if you are working in blank verse, or loosely structured stream of consciousness format. The creation of the piece may well be a very quick job.

I work in Special Education, and some of the people I work with take young people with learning difficulties out after school on an evening, to broaden their horizons, give them a range of experiences, and more practically, to give their parents or carers a little extra time without them. One time I asked a couple of these P.A.s¹ where they were going to take their charge and they replied “Meadowhall”

It had been a long day, and I could think of nothing worse than being dragged around a vast shopping centre on what was a beautiful evening. I knew who wanted to go to go leisure shopping and it wasn’t the child. But I said nothing, I’m far too polite for that, and it was none of my business after all. But I sat (on the floor for some reason), and twenty minutes later I had spewed out all my feelings about Meadowhall onto a sheet of paper that I had pilfered from the photocopier.

Admittedly, I had to make a tweak here and there, but it was born virtually intact. It is a piece that I particularly enjoy performing in front of an audience as I can give vent to my anger in an ironic but humorous manner.

Meadowhall

I want to go to Meadowhall 
I want to experience leisure shopping 
in air-conditioned, temperature controlled luxury 
and forget about the crap shops in the crap High Streets of crap towns. 

I want to have the things that I buy placed into bags 
constructed from thick glossy card, 
printed with impressive designer logos and brand names, 
with handles made out of real string, 
the fibres of which have been twisted together on machines 
operated by people who live in the far flung corners 
of what was once the British Empire.  

I want to experience the advantages 
of life at the centre of that empire, 
to imagine that I am wealthy 
and to enjoy the carelessness that wealth allows.  
 
I want to dine on the finest foods, 
served on trays covered in adverts, 
I want to drink sweet carbonated beverages 
from waxed cardboard beakers 
covered in brand names and logos 
whilst I am surrounded by adverts, 
in a vast hall, under a giant screen 
showing adverts, adverts, adverts. 

I want to imagine that everything that those adverts offer is within my grasp. 
I want to experience the stress free, comfortable life that only the wealthy enjoy. 

I do not want to experience risk, danger, threats and difficulties 
Other than by watching them portrayed on the screens of a multiplex cinema, whilst I sit in a soft chair, grazing on pick and mix food 
and guzzling sweet, fizzy, designer nothing.  
 
I want all my Christmases to come at once. 
Permanently,  
I want my life to be one long Christmas, 
a comfortable, convenient Christmas that is all about me. 

I want things to be so good that I hardly notice that I am growing older, 
I want the small signs of ageing that I do notice 
to be easily and painlessly erased 
by purchases that have been tried and tested 
by beautiful white coated women 
in Laboratoire 
in developed nations that were once part of world conquering empires 
but are now free.  
Free to develop anti ageing techniques, 
fat busting technology, 
friendly bacteria  
And thousands upon thousands of other essentials. 
All for my comfort and peace of mind.  
 
I don't want to think about the possibility that it will all end 
That my access to nice bright new things will end 
That my credit will fail and I will have to depend 
on inferior non-branded products 
from crap shops on crap High Streets in crap towns 
or do without 

I don't want to think about that possibility at all 
I want to go to Meadowhall 
And buy bright, desirable designer branded things 
Treasures!
That I can hold in my hands, marvel at and feel good 
Like an African tribal king 
with the brightly coloured glass beads 
given to him by Empire builders of old  
In exchange for his birthright.  

1. Personal Assistants