Is it just ME?

Or are the temptations at the till torture?

YOU’RE in your favourite High Street store, you’ve found the perfect fluted midi dress in the right shade of red (it has to be red this season). Mission accomplished. Right?

Wrong. With said dress hugged to your bosom, you must now negotiate the pre-till slalom course. The start line is clearly marked and the course set out with poles and belt barriers.

Some fashion retailers — I’m looking at you Topshop — make pre-till slaloms challenging with multiple entry points.

In this event, you know that the woman who entered 20 minutes after you will make the tills in seconds, while you are losing the will to live next the giant marshmallows.

This is ‘retail dust’ — the phrase that shopping psychologists use to describe the stuff sold near tills.

But, like dust, the stuff just seems to stick to you. Threepack of socks? Might come in handy. Velvet-look coat hangers? Better than wire ones maybe.

Three lip balms, a charity key ring, a bejewelled nail file, some opaque tights (in a colour you’ll never wear) and a twin-pack of lint rollers later and you wish you’d picked up a basket.

Not to worry, here’s a selection of lovely bags-forlife. Oh yes, those are retail dust too.

And finally, oh heaven be praised, your ears are pricked for that summons: ‘till number five please’.

As the assistant begins ringing up your purchases you drift into a reverie. Didn’t you read somewhere that fashion stores were supposed to be bringing in self-service tills?

Imagine that shopping utopia; a place where you just buy a single thing . . . the thing you actually came for . . . and then leave.

Three lip balms, a charity key ring, a de-fluff roller... it’s impossible to buy just the thing you came for