The Jellycat section of Scotsdales in Great Shelford is 216 cubic feet of sensory overload. The brightly coloured, charmingly quirky toys fill floor-to-ceiling shelves in this Cambridgeshire garden centre, plastic eyes staring, stitched smiles beaming. There are plushly soft teddies and bunnies and cows and giraffes, but also boiled eggs in sunglasses and tennis balls with arms. Side by side they sit, a strange, soft communion, begging to be picked up and cuddled.
A closer look, though, reveals something less alluring. Every Jellycat has a grey security tag dangling from it, a pin piercing its downy fur. A scan of the ceiling shows security cameras trained on the shelves. When a member of staff walks past, I notice them glance apprehensively at me – and, I realise, at my tote bag over my shoulder. A laminated sign next to the shelves confirms I am, indeed, under surveillance: “CCTV cameras are operating in this area.”
