SUNDAY AFTERNOON and four long hours to kill in the burrow-like passageways of the Dundrum Town Centre. I know some men that would rather do time.

But that was where we found ourselves last weekend and for anyone that hasn't yet checked out the most in-vogue shopping destination in south Dublin, I kept a watching brief. 12.30pm The family enters the building. We immediately join a lengthy queue for a parking space. A neon sign informs us that there is one space available on the level where we are currently perched, and 746 spaces on the next platform up. We must wait however, as the lady at the top of the line wants that one space, no matter what. Even though she cannot see it. 12.59pm Loitering outside NEXT, as the good woman scans her vulture-eye along the rails for value.

The young lad is panned out in the buggy, due to a rigorous exercise routine he has been put through at a Booterstown playground. That or he cares not for oxygen-starved consumer chambers, and is simply pretending to be asleep. I can never quite tell with him. 1.07pm It's difficult to ignore the number of yummy mummies passing up and down, armed with stateof-the-art buggies. Quinny Central.

I also notice that a lot of the infants seem to be about two or three months old. Which makes me think about the Irish rugby team's Grand Slam heroics last March. And the nights of celebrations that would have inevitably lead to passionate after parties, deep in the heart of D4. Just as Italia '90 did around the rest of the country.

Part of me wants to stop the mummies and ask if any of the little creatures are named Brian, Donncha, Geordan or RJ. But I decide against it. In case I get arrested. 1.47pm Dinner time. The three of us head for Milano. A maiden voyage for myself and the young lad, but the good woman is an old pro.

A Sloppy Giuseppe for me and a La Reine for the lady. While it's all very nice and tasty, I could eat the same again. Never thought I'd say it, but I would gladly settle for Sloppy seconds.

The young lad wails 'Mama Mia' to the pasta and begs for a balloon from McDonald's instead. We ask the waitress if we can take his meal in a doggy bag and she looks at us as if we had started the Vietnam War. 2.27pm We decide to go our separate ways. The good woman ventures one way, hunting for a wedding present and the young lad and I wander into Gant. A clothing store for men with large wallets.

We give up after about ten seconds and head for the toy store. Hamley's actually has a mini-playground in the centre of the shop and the young lad ping pongs about like a kangaroo. I leave him to it and go off in search of Subbuteo. The whipper snapper behind the counter eyes me like I'm a dinosaur and tells me that they don't stock it. Not in this centu

ry. 3.03pm The young lad falls in love with the glass elevators that shuttle customers from floor to floor. He wants to sit inside permanently and give a running commentary for the people, just in case they get their ups and downs muddled up. Strange looks are something I have learned to live with. 3.55pm Oh the mind is wandering into dangerous territory. Thoughts of racing and football must be chased from my head. As for a pint, I'm starting to hallucinate.

The young lad is so bored he wants to put me in the buggy and push me down the escalator. The one that goes up. Then the good woman rings and tells us we can go home. 4.15pm Still standing in the queue waiting to pay the parking ticket. There's another sign telling us that they are giving us a special offer. Three hours of parking for the price of one. I can't believe they have charged us in the first place.

Meanwhile, my trouser leg is being tugged relentlessly. He has spotted a strategically placed machine that sells Kinder Buenos. Marketing at its most cunning. 4.30pm Freewheeling down the N11 and feeling like the Count of Monte Cristo. The good woman snoring after her hard day desperately trying to empty her purse. Bags of new possessions smothering her feet. The young lad is in the back, talking to the window. Just glad to be on the road for home.

That's an Irish shopping centre for you. Designed for the women. Survived by the men.