As the doors of Westfield were finally flung open for the very first time an avalanche of people crashed towards us. The Japanese photographer next to me faced them down like a big game hunter up against a herd of wildebeest, his Nikon whizzing furiously and then he was gone, swept away like a stick in a swollen river. He may still be there for all I know, washed up in a quiet backwater lying prone in the doorway of a mobile phone store.