The new M&S near my home is a shrine to the modern mania for anti-DIY

The transformation of what is known as the "convenience store sector" dates back to 1994, when John Gummer, then secretary of state for the environment, clamped down on planning permission for edge-of-town sites. At a stroke, it became next to impossible for supermarkets to purchase land for large branches. The move was part of the new attempt to preserve greenfield sites and encourage inner-city renewal by confining development to urban areas. When new Labour came to power, it enthusiastically embraced these policies. Richard Rogers was appointed head of the Urban Task Force, charged with delivering an "urban renaissance".

Nearly seven years on, what have the effects of this urban renaissance been? Well, one has been the colonisation of convenience shops by the supermarkets. Unable to build shops on the edge of town, the large chains turned their attention to the high street. Tesco Metros, Sainsbury Locals and similar outlets began to proliferate.

The chain that appears to have taken the concept of convenience most to heart, however, is Marks & Spencer. Near where I live, in south-east London, M&S has just opened another outlet. It is a scary place, a shrine to the modern mania for anti-DIY, for not being allowed to do anything oneself. The first thing shoppers confront upon entering is a large counter of grapes - all seedless, of course. They proceed up an aisle dedicated to ready-meals. Every conceivable variety is on display: ready-meals from Italy, China, India and Mexico; ready-meals that purport not to be ready-meals at all (as with M&S's "Cook " range: "Pan fry for two in seven minutes!" the packaging proclaims); ready-meals that allow you to pretend you are eating out (a "Gastropub" selection offers fish and chips, lasagne, cod with salsa verde, and other classics). Six types of hummus and endless packets of roast chicken are displayed, but if you wanted to roast your own chicken or buy the ingredients to make hummus, you would have a problem. Presumably, the store is designed to showcase M&S's commitment to "choice" and "variety". But the one thing you cannot choose to do is cook for yourself.

The wording on the packaging is cosseting, infantilising (caramels are "delicious", chocolates are "extremely chocolatey"). Many products are designed for dipping, yet even this appears to ask too much of some customers - hence guacamole-flavoured tortillas. Amid this glut of pre-packaged food, I am seized by an urge to bake a cake. I ask an assistant where I can find flour. Beaming, he points to a display of roses, daffodils and tulips. I explain that I mean flour to cook with. "Oh no," he replies, shaking his head. "We don't do that."

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