Ipercoop: consumer wonderland

Having had house guests through the whole of August and September, followed by the London Film Festival and another trip to Italy, I've been distracted from blogging. Now - luckily for the tiny but discriminating minority who do visit this blog from time to time - I have been inspired by a visit to Ipercoop, a gigantic supermarket just outside Modena. In fact I hate to go there, but it is loathsome in a spectacularly fascinating way. Last Sunday morning it was all geared up for Halloween; next week no doubt they will be clearing the aisles for the Christmas Crib Industry, with job lots of wise men and shepherds, crates of plastic rocks and straw, a choice of stable sizes and optional extras like

angels, tinkling streams and seasonal music. But even without the "specials", there is always lots to gawp at for anyone like me who rarely ventures beyond Tesco Metro. Ipercoop is so gigantic that the assistants have to wear skates. There are 52 checkouts, although increasingly the customers use portable scanners to check their goods as they continue to cruise the aisles. The pet foods section is as big as the whole of our local supermarket.

You can pop a bike or a fishing rod into your trolley along with the cornflakes and bread; you can buy a washing machine, a wood-burning stove or a set of garden furniture. The only things that seem to be unavailable are actual houses.

Instead of having the own-label, bargain items tactfully spread around the store, there's a special aisle for people who are so poor or so stingy they don't mind being seen there: hence it is almost deserted.

But it's the fresh food that's really lavish. The fish department consists of a row of almost full-size lifeboats, each bearing great piles of fish, shellfish and various marine animal body parts, lovingly arranged on ice. There are vistas of vegetables, avenues of cheese, whole neighbourhoods of meat.

A visit to Ipercoop always leaves me completely shattered. By the time I get to the car park - which is about the size of Hampstead Heath - and try to remember the colour and make of car I came in, I'm ready to burst into tears. Each time I declare "never again" but somehow, every time I visit Italy, Ipercoop is where I end up.