"Compulsive buying," the entry goes on to explain, "seems to represent a search for self in people whose identity is neither firmly felt nor dependable, as indicated by the way purchases often provide social or personal identity-markers".

Oh dear, that's me, then. I'm a 20th-century consumer in a 21st-century world where rioters go on the rampage not for principles but for trainers. The sad thing is that the stalls that do the best business under the Westway are the ones that sell second-hand designer identity-markers, or schmutter, as my great-aunt used to sniff. Voices from the past prevent me from keeping up but at least I'm not married to a dictator. My divvying days are over but I retain a passion for the past. Maybe it's time to start writing my long-dreamed-of novel based on the real-life Sherlock Holmes, which will take me back to coal fires, whiskery emigres and mantelpieces shimmering with bone china.