The car park is a masterpiece of chaos. It’s massive, yet feels designed by a playful genius. You’ll see a car parked miles from the entrance, the driver clearly wanting a peaceful, 10-minute walk.
Then you’ll spot a van wedged into a parent-and-child space. No child in sight. Just a very smug-looking dog.
Wheelchair bays are always taken by someone “just popping in for milk.” It’s a game of 4D chess with shopping bags.
Inside the Trolley Vortex
The entrance is a triumph. Two sets of doors, creating an airlock. You enter a world where time and logic bend. The automatic doors slide open with a sigh, as if they’re admitting you to a very mundane temple.
The first thing you see? A mountain of pumpkins in October. A wall of hot cross buns in March. It’s a seasonal disco.
And the lighting. Oh, the lighting. It’s aggressively bright. It makes everything look hyper-real. A carrot looks like it’s been airbrushed. A loaf of bread looks like it could be a museum exhibit.
