Mrs M and I are existing in an errie universe at the moment: a kid free zone. PB and JC are in the protective custody of their Nana and Papa until tomorrow lunchtime. We have not squandered our freedom. We spent an hour with the kids down at the park, fed the ducks, conducted the handover to the grandparents and got the hell out of there. Since then we've spent a gorgeous Sydney day doing what anyone does when the weather is so good: we spent it shopping. Sure we squeezed in a lunch at an outdoor cafe too. But that doesn't suit my theme so I'm not going to mention it. Just like I'm not talking about our plans to go to the beach for a swim soon.

We hit a new, partially completed shopping centre in a place called Bondi Junction. What used to be a couple of dreary shopping malls seperated by a wind tunnel that doubled as a road is now in the process of becoming a spaceship design to suck as much money from your credit card in as short a time as possible. An excessive use of glass, bright signs and friendly staff will destroy even the hardiest of travellers. Wandering around the shops it was all great fun - we met several friends also looking to spend money for the sake of it. However I kept thinking the same thing as we drifted from bookstore to bra shop. Except for the accents we could be in any shopping mall in any place in the Western world. Now I'm not lamenting that fact - such malls are popular or they wouldn't exist everywhere. But the emergence of a growing uber-culture, an over-riding sense that being (say) Australian is being overhauled by a sense of being Western, came over me. More and more people in the Western world eat the same food, watch the same shows, shop at the same shops. It's all the benefits and curses of globalisation in one air-conditioned, four floor retail extravaganza.

And it's part of the Western world's relentless celebration of anything new being better than anything old.