I ask Andy in advance:
'If I only have half an hour there, will I feel cheated?'
He says I'll be fine, and I am, it's perfect.

I take a basket and a deep breath.

Start from the beginning, Jane. Work your way around.

Ideas bump into each other, visions crowd the forefront of my mind. Blues. Go for the the blues. Geometrics. Transparent. Different themes, riotous schemes mingle on the screen in my head. I'm like a kid in a toy store, gawping and staring, longing to touch it all, see it all.

Slow down, Jane. Work out what you plan on doing with your plastics.

Eye candy: buckets of discs. Flourescent pink. Translucent green. Little bits perfect for Tiddlywinks. Cylinders, cubes, flat hoops. Bright skinny wedges click their way into my basket. I can't get enought of the squigglies, the tiny balls.

I have vague ideas: a cityline of transparent cubes, short and squat; rectangular, tall and narrow. A clear blue crescent moon, floating flatly in the background. A forest of luminous blues and crystal-like cylinders. A jungle-gym sort of structure, hung with hoops, triangle chips, squiggles. A clear bowl filled with dozens of the little plastic dice.

Whoa, Jane! That's one full basket you've got there!

No kidding, eh? I watch the checkout lady tally up my total, flicking the pieces to one side as she counts rapidly: 73 pieces at $0.15 dozen, (she leaves the extra one in), 3 chunks at $1.00 apiece, little marble-like balls, the moons, the hoops, the triangle chips. 15 plastic wedges, long narrow ramps. The squiggles, flat confetti.

'That comes to $46.65'

I dish it out willingly, sit on my bed at home to pour it all out. Paw through my plastics, piling, sorting and stacking; the pictures in my head slowly coalescing into actual designs as my eye candy clicks through my fingers and I grin like a fool.

Thank you, Andy, for introducing me to this place. I think it is about to become my new obsession.