Harrods Haul

Just kidding, as if I could afford enough things from Harrods to do a haul. Correction: as if I could even afford that useless plastic thing attached to a pricetag on something from Harrods.

The point is that I went to Harrods on Thursday. Harrods was not the intended destination that morning when we took the tube up to London. I’d always wanted to visit Hyde Park, not really sure why, and so after switching between several hot and stuffy trains (because London is in the middle of heatwave, remember) we came up to street level at Knightsbridge Station, which is only a few minutes away from the park. But, since the first thing that I saw were the iconic green and gold ‘Harrods’ signs, our park mission was put on hold because I just had to see inside the store that sells everything.

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There is a syndrome associated with Paris, where one is so let down by the city after the massive build up to it, that you become extremely depressed.

This does not happen at Harrods.

We walked in on the level filled with designer handbags and perfume, and everywhere there are, in huge black lettering ‘Chanel’, ‘Dior’, ‘Dolce and Gabbana’, ‘Prada’, ‘Gucci’ etc etc etc. Let me tell you, I felt like I’d been dropped into The Devil Wears Prada and I had to try and find my feet. I also didn’t want to touch anything because after looking at a shirt that was on sale, 50% off, for £472 I felt like just my breathing too loudly might cause me to get kicked out. Not everywhere is so ridiculously expensive, and there are some really beautiful things in the ‘Harrods Store’ section, and I adored the Cath Kidston  store, which if I had the money, I would have emptied.

Then we waked past a beautiful ice cream palour, right in the middle of the shopping centre. It was a complete mix of traditonal old fashioned ice cream palour and extremely interesting glass work. So, of course, we had to stop and try something. Gelato Milkshakes were eventually ordered and with the extremely over dramatic waiter’s florish they were delivered to us at the bar. It was like drinking liquid strawberries.

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I wish I could have could have taken photographs of some of the sundaes that the woman behind the counter created for some of the other customers, which were served in towering twisted glasses and topped with, in some cases, dry ice, which sent clouds of billowing white smoke over the already frozen dessert. Pretty awesome for just a little ice cream shop.

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After looking around a little more, and exploring the food halls which flowed on and on and on over the bottom floor we took sandwiched out to Hyde Park, finally. It was actually quite hot by that time, and for those people who, when I first arrived in South Africa, asked me whether I had ever seen the sun before, yes I had and this is the proof.

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Our sandwiches had enough salmon in them to feed half of Africa and I found some daisies and made a chain, because there’s nothing better to do in a park.

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We did a quick detour on the way back to Covent Garden and took a walk around the market there, looked around a shop which stocked hundreds of different types of tea, watched a very entertaining street performer and took the long stuffy trip home in crowded trains.

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The sun was still high in the sky when we got home, and I didn’t realise that it was past 9 o’clock by the time we ate because of the long summer days here. The sun didn’t go down until much later, until I had been asleep for quite some time.

 

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